


Printsessa Skazka

by Quieta



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bath Sex, Childhood Friends, Cunnilingus, Despair, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, F/F, Forced Separation, Gun Kink, Lesbian Sex, Physical Abuse, Rape, Revolution, Severe Withdrawals, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 61,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quieta/pseuds/Quieta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rich, the poor. The royalty, the commoners. As a revolution swamps a country, a naïve princess finds herself out of depth as her sheltered life begins to crumble before her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“What’s taking them so long?” I peered out the window of the automobile, frosted over with winter cold. I tried to lower the window, but Gruoch’s hand on my own stopped me. “Don’t do anything, Your Highness. Let me get out.”

She slid over and opened the door, unfolding her impressive height as soon as she was outside. She went over and spoke to some members of the entourage, pointing ahead.

I leaned back and wrapped my hands in my fur muff, unease roiling in my heart. My eyes flicked over to Kashlani, who was sitting opposite me, a frown creasing her brow.

“I wonder what the problem is,” I muttered. She shrugged, pulling her ermine stole tighter around her. “Probably just more protests. They happen all the time.”

“But they’ve never stopped us before. We’ve always been just able to go through without any problem…”

Kashlani opened her mouth to say something, but cringed as a loud bang sounded on the outside of our car. I gasped. “What was that?”

Another series of crashes sounded, bangs raining down on the hood of the car. They were so loud my ears began to ring. I covered my head and screamed. They were as loud as thunder, coming quicker and quicker. And in the background I heard something else, a distant rumbling of cheers and shouts. 

The door was yanked open and Gruoch thrust herself in, slamming the door hard behind her. “Drive!” She yelled to the chauffeur, her eyes wild. Blood was dripping down her face from a wound on her hairline.

“Gruoch!” I wept, flinging myself forward. Using my sleeve, I began to dab at her wound. She tried to push me away. “Don’t, Your Highness, you’ll get your dress dirty…”

Kashlani was covering her mouth, her dark eyes wide. “What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.

We were speeding away from the center of the city, leaving our guards behind. I felt a pang of worry—what was happening to them? Were they okay?

Gruoch was leaning back, panting. I noticed she also a rapidly-swelling bruise on her cheek. “The crowds, they began… the guards were trying to fight them off, but they kept coming, they started throwing rocks… one hit me.” Her hand went up to check her wound. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It looks terrible,” I sobbed, swiping at my running makeup. I turned to the chauffeur, who was looking terrified, his hands white on the wheel. “Take us to Duchess Majorique’s house,” I directed. 

Kashlani was looking out the window, her eyes scanning the passerby that flashed past the window. Some were stopping and staring, surprised at seeing the royal limousine without its usual entourage of guards. It occurred to me that if someone wanted to assassinate me or Kashlani, it would be quite easy for them to do so.

Trying to suppress a shiver, I turned back to Gruoch. “We’re going to Aunt Nireille’s now. We’ll be able to get you some help there.

She touched her forehead again, wincing. The blood was beginning to form a crust, and it stopped bleeding. “We really shouldn’t, you know how much your mother hates your aunt.”

“So what? You were just attacked! It doesn’t matter how much Mother thinks she’s a bad influence, we’ll be safe there!”

The words seemed alien coming out of my mouth. We’ll be safe there. I was always safe. Whenever we went, no matter how many guards we took with us, we knew no one wanted to harm us. I remember seeing a small girl being lifted by her mother so she could see us, waving her little arms and smiling. I had stuck my head out and waved as well, and she laughed, her entire face lit up.

The people loved us. How could they do this?

***

Gruoch sat on the sofa, fresh stitches lining her forehead. The blood had been cleaned off, and although her bruise was darkening rapidly, she looked much better.

Nireille sat on her favorite red velvet armchair, puffing a cigarette. “They attacked you?”

I nodded, rubbing Kashlani’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She was trembling, but calm. We had taken off our dresses and were in shifts. In any other situation, it would be incredibly inappropriate—especially in the house of my maiden aunt, who was well known for having unmarried men over frequently. 

“They started throwing rocks,” said Kashlani. “Gruoch got hit by one.”

“The guards were trying to fight them away,” added Gruoch, holding a handkerchief full of ice to her cheek. “I don’t know what happened to them…”

Nireille took another deep drag. “They should be all right. Certainly, they’ll get roughed up, but the people won’t do anything drastic.”

“I hope not,” I muttered. I leaned back and stared around the room, restless. Nireille did not have a taste for extravagance, and it was sparsely furnished, at least compared to the palace. There was a polished mahogany grandfather clock with gold trim in the corner, and several paintings of country life, done in watercolors, on the dark wood wall. The rug was soft, forest green, and the furniture was velvet, done in dark, subdued purples and blues. Nireille may have had an opulent and flamboyant personality, but her sense of décor was neither. 

The coffee table in front of us was covered in a lace tablecloth, upon which sat a decanter of brandy and a few glasses. Nireille leaned forward and unstoppered it, pouring a generous amount into a glass. “Have some, MacDuff. It’ll dull the pain.”

Gruoch took the glass and drained it in one go. Nireille poured herself some and slouched back, taking a long draught. Her forgotten cigarette smoldered on the ashtray beside her.

Nireille was dressed down for the evening, in a loose, high-waisted blue dress. Her light brown hair not piled up elaborately on top of her head and festooned with ornaments as it usually was, but loose and flowing over her shoulders.

“I’ll call your family,” she said, setting her glass down. “Frederick! Come here!”

I leaned back and sighed as her butler came into view, apologizing profusely for not being able to make it sooner. I felt relieved that we were going home safely, but the riots and protests still occupied my mind. My mother had always taken great pains to assure me that things were fine, even when we met the screaming crowds while we were out in our car. She said that it would pass, and it was just temporary unrest. But if it was really getting this bad…

I didn’t know it then, but that was a sign of things to come. My bubble of oblivion had been punctured, and I was slowly becoming aware of the reality that enfolded the country.


	2. Chapter 2

I lay in bed, my mind awhirl. The events of today kept flashing through my brain. The angry crowd. The crashes of rocks on our car. Blood spilling down Gruoch’s face.

My insides were tightly wound, unease tensing my muscles. I turned around and cushioned my head on my arm. I was wide awake and it was two thirty in the morning. And I had a dinner to attend tomorrow, too…

I turned again and pulled my bedside drawer open. After riffling through the assorted brushes and hair ornaments, I wrapped my fingers around a solid bottle and pulled it out. It was dark brown and almost half full, the liquid inside sloshing as I uncorked it. The label on the front said _Laudanum_ in fancy swirling script.

I took a mouthful and set it down, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. The alcoholic mixture had tasted bad when I first had it, but I was quite used to it by now. I lay back on my fluffy pillows and closed my eyes, waiting for it to take effect.

After a while, my body began to feel warm, as if a warm quilt had been laid over me. My mind went fuzzy. The edges of my vision began to haze over and I turned around, rubbing my legs against each other. The soft skin felt nice, and an unconscious smile came to my face.

I couldn’t focus easily, and I closed my eyes, feeling as if the world was revolving around me. I felt all the worries of the last day melt away in a haze of euphoria. I arched my back and spread my arms, wiggling my fingertips. I was so warm and happy. Butterflies were spreading their wings inside me.

The _click_ of the doorknob turning shocked my out of my stupor, and I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Who…?”

“It’s just me, Glau.” Kashlani was coming toward me, dressed in her white nightgown. Her hair was but loose, spilling over her shoulders and down her back in a river of blue-black. She put her knees on the bed and hopped up next to me.

I smiled and rested my head against the pillow, looking up at her face. She had skin the color of burnished copper, and a long, gracefully arched nose. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black in the dim light. She had a long, foxlike, triangular face and high, elegant cheekbones. When I saw her for the first time the baby fat still hadn’t receded from her figure and face, and she had hidden behind her mother as I had mine, staring at each other cautiously. We had been strangers then, from different worlds.

Kashlani had been sent to us when she was eight years old, as a royal hostage. My older sister Aspalis had been sent in her place. It had happened just as we became allies with her country of Bharata. The exchange had happened to ensure each others’ loyalty, and was routine among royalty. In fact, we had another royal hostage at our court—Prince Ulrich of Richterburg—but he preferred to keep to himself, and hadn’t attached to anyone like me and Kashlani.

I leaned up to kiss her, and she obligingly bent down. As our lips met, though, she jerked back. “Blech! You haven’t been taking laudanum again, have you? You taste disgusting!”

I huffed and tried again for a kiss. But I was woozy and weak from the Laudanum, and she pushed me down lightly, as easily as if I had been an infant.

“Wash your mouth out first,” she said, crossing her arms.

I glumly got up and went over to the basin of water. The shards of light reflected off the mirror set up above it, and the pale slivers danced over my skin as I bent down to the basin.

I quickly washed my mouth out and splashed some water on my face for good measure. The laudanum was making me dozy, and I at least wanted to stay awake long enough to talk to Kashlani.

Trickles of water made their way down my skin, and I smoothed the sides of my hair back as I looked at myself in the mirror. I had the stout, large-breasted physique of my mother, as well as her wavy brunette hair and faded grayish-blue eyes. But facially, I had always resembled my father, the King Consort. He was a Graecian prince hailing from the island of Porthyros, and I had inherited his olive-tinted skin and long, narrow nose. I had been to Porthyros a few times and enjoyed the climate, and had a wonderful time playing on the beach with Kashlani and some of my cousins.

I wondered if we would be able to make out usual trip this year, or the tensions gripping the country would disallow us to go. I would hate to have to stay home in the middle of the winter, when I could be somewhere warm and sunny like Porthyros.

_“Glau!”_

I shook my head and dashed back to the bed, throwing myself down and smiling up at her. She kissed me again, her warm lips sealing comfortably onto mine.

The heat had returned, my body swimming in pleasure. I arched my back and tilted my head back to gaze at the polished red wood of the bedstead.

Her hand moved downwards, slipping between my legs. I giggled. “Kasha… oh, you know how to make feel good. Or maybe that’s just the laudanum…”

She pinched the inside of my thigh. “Quiet. You know you’ll have to return the favor to me later.”

She slowly stroked along my mound of venus, one warm fingertip pressing lightly onto my clit. The sparks that erupted inside made me start to dampen.

I closed my eyes, hearing her voice start to become distant. All I could feel were her warm fingers stoking between my legs, gently comforting me. My pillows were as soft as a cloud, her body heat so comfortable pressed against me.

“Glau, are you listening?” Her voice was right by my ear, harsh and irritated. I jerked away, “Kasha, louuuud…”

“I was saying, I think we need to find out some more. I really didn’t think that it was this bad, in the capital city, no less. I mean, attacking us, of all things…”

“Who cares?”

Who really did? We were safe in our cozy palace, away from the cold and the riots.

“Glaucopis, I’m leaving until you come to your senses.” She withdrew her hand and hopped off the bed, stomping over to the door. I sat up. “Come on, Kasha, please don’t be so angry, I just—“

The slam of the door cut off my protests. I sank back into bed and stared blearily at the canopy. The nice feeling was beginning to drift away, little by little, so I switched off the lamp and buried my face into the pillows, letting the remnants of the haziness snatch my consciousness away.

***

“Hey, Gru!”

I bent my knees and jumped, wrapping my arms around her neck from behind. Gruoch stumbled forward, choking, then caught herself and started walking again, me dangling from her neck. “What is it, Your Highness?”

I pressed my face into the fabric of her suit shirt. “I was just wondering if you can get me something…”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I haven’t even asked for anything yet!”

“When you cuddle me like this you always ask me for something I can’t get you.”

“Well, you don’t know that! I could just be cuddling you because I love you and I'm really worried about what happened yesterday!”

She wrangled me off and turned to face me. She brushed her bangs away so she could see the stitches on her forehead. The bruise had receded from angry red to a dark purple, but the stitches were holding rather well. “It looks a lot better.”

“Thank you.” Gru smiled at me, her usually harried expression turning, for an instant, warm. Gruoch had been my bodyguard since I was five years old and she was nineteen. She had accompanied me wherever I went, protected me and kept me company. I was closer to her than to my mother.

She was dressed in her usual black suit and tie, her jet-black hair done up in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way. She was a beautiful woman, statuesque, easily towering over anyone in the vicinity. Her eyes were dark as midnight, framed by long, dark eyelashes. Her face was like a statue-- pale and sharp, with glossy, full red lips. But although she was beautiful, it was clear to see she was not someone to take lightly—her height gave her an imposing air, and hidden beneath her suit were rippling muscles that could take down a full-grown man with a flick of her wrist.

I smiled and rocked back on my heels. “I was wondering if you could get me a newspaper to read.”

Gruoch’s face abruptly hardened. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I won’t tell anyone!”

“Your mother specifically instructed me…”

“So what about my mother? I’m asking you for a favor, Gru. Just a newspaper. I want to know what’s going on.”

She looked aside and exhaled. “Highness…”

“You remember what happened! The crowd that attacked us! I want to know more! Why can’t you…”

“All right, all right.” Gruoch folded her arms. “I’ll try and get you one. But you have to promise, _promise_ …”

“I promise!” I said, hugging her tightly. She let out a breathy laugh. “All right.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Kasha! Kasha!”

Kashlani started and looked up as I burst into the room. “What do you want?”

“I brought you a newspaper!”

Immediately, she hopped off the bed. “Well? What does it say?”

It I spread the pages out on the bed, looking eagerly for anything relating to riots. I didn’t have to look very far.

**CIVIL UNREST SPREADS**

_After the destruction of the summer home of the royal family, protests have been erupting around the capitol. On December 13, crowds of protestors attacked Arondale, the site of one of the royal family’s apartments. Arson and property damage were widespread._

_“We are nothing more than a repressed majority fighting for our rights,” said protest leader Schizl Kierviste. “We rebel because we are oppressed. We have withstood centuries of being treated like slaves. And now, as we fight a war we have no business fighting, with our brothers and sisters dying so far from home, you think we will lie down and take this?”_

_Kierviste was arrested in_

“Our Summer Palace?” I whimpered.

Kashlani recoiled, her hands covering her mouth. “Oh my god…”

“We were there last year! Did they.. did they destroy…”

“They’re attacking everywhere! Oh, Glau, oh my… my god…”

I rubbed her shoulders, trying to soothe her. “Kasha, it’s okay! We’re all right. We’re surrounded by guards. We’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what matters! We thought the Summer Palace was safe! Remember the apples we picked? The horses? We were so far away from every—”

“Well, maybe it was just an—an occurrence, you know. Like, just this, and it all will end…”

She shook her head. “I think… I have a feeling this is just the beginning.”

***

My mother was talking to the Head of the Guards, her brow furrowed and her voice low. She glanced at me as I stomped toward her, then returned to her conversation.

_“Mother!”_

I screamed the word, and she glared at me. “Glau, I’m busy. This is a very important—“

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me that they destroyed the Summer Palace? You said everything was going to be okay! Are there are more protests! You said it was just _temporary!”_

My mother stilled, and dismissed the Head of the Guards with one sharp nod. Then she turned to face me.

Queen Ystele IV was not a tall or imposing woman, but she had enough presence to shush a room with a single word. She very rarely became angry at me, but by the look on her face, I had a feeling this was going to be one of those occasions.

She was short and curvy, with glossy chestnut-colored hair woven in a chignon bun. Her face was pinched and pale, with a small nose and rose-red, bow-shaped lips. Her eyes were the same color as mine, grayish-blue, like the ocean. Her waist was slender in her vibrant silk green, and emeralds dripped from her ears and wrists. Amazingly, she had kept her figure after six pregnancies, and looked no younger than forty.

“Glaucopis.” Her voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of threat there. “Where did you learn about this?”

“I, um, I… I overheard, um…” Faced with my mother, my tongue always tied itself in knots. Her eyes bored into me with the intensity of a storm at sea.

“Did you read it in a newspaper? You know you aren’t allowed to have those!”

“I—um, yeah, but—“

“”Who gave it to you? Was it Aude? Was it Gruoch?”

“I found it, all right? It was in the—the maid’s quarters—“

“They aren’t supposed to bring newspapers here… those sloppy ingrates…”

“That doesn’t matter!” I cried again, taking a step forward. “What matters is you _told_ me everything was okay! That the riots would be over in a couple of months! But instead—“

“Glau.” Her voice had softened, and she turned half-away. I sniffed, my face burning and tears in my eyes. “You _said_ —“

“Come with me.” she took me by the arm—gently—and led me down the hallway, through the sitting room and over to her private quarters. I hung back—she never let me into her office, and I was a little wary—but she tugged my arm and led me in.

The floor was marble, as were the walls, and the ceiling was a giant mirror, polished to perfection. It reflected everything on the ground, making it look like there was an upside-down world balanced above us.

She walked over to her desk, a massive thing made of polished cherry and gold handles. A china vase, white, with swirling blue patterns, was perched precariously on the edge, on the verge of being toppled over by the mass of papers that covered the desk. A shiny new telephone was on the other side of the desk, black and gold glinting in the light. Mother opened a drawer and riffled around in it, drawing out a bottle similar to the one I had used last night, except this one was full.

“Drink it.”

She handed it to me.

“What? But Mother, I just took some. If I drink it all now, I won’t have any left for the rest of the month!”

Mother always rationed laudanum to me. I had taken it since I was a young child, and she restricted me to two bottles a month. I craved my time under the influence of the alchoholic mixture, so I was hesitant to take it all now.

“Look.” She stroked my hair. “I’ll let you have two new bottles if you drink this all now. How does that sound, my little butterfly?” she unscrewed the bottle and held it out to me.

I wanted to confront her about the lies she had been feeding me, but the spicy smell of saffron and opium wafted into my nose, and my tongue seemed as heavy as a lead weight.

“I…”

I wanted so bad to yell at her, but the laudanum… I would feel so good.

I took it from her and lifted it to my lips, taking a long draught. It set my belly on fire. I took another drink. And another.

Soon the bottle was empty, and I felt faintly nauseous at having drunk it all at one time. Mother was standing close to me, still stroking my hair, her voice calm and affectionate.

“There we go. All gone. You’d better go back to your room now, sweetie.”

I looked at the floor. Veins of gray ran through the pale marble. “Okay.”

She smiled at me, motherly and tender. “Good Lord, when you were small, you had such terrible tantrums. Laudanum always made you feel better. Calmed you down.”

I nodded. My head was already starting to drift a bit.

“Off you go. I have to finish my meeting with the Head of the Guards.” She pushed me away and took a seat at her desk. She grabbed the receiver of the phone.

I walked back to my room, slowly making my way past the portraits, velvet sofas, and polished tables of the living room, down the hall with the soft purple rug. I passed Sister Maria Benedetta, who looked at me suspiciously, but didn’t say a thing.

I locked the door of my room behind me and flopped on the bed, pressing my face into the cool pillow. I felt like I was sinking down, deeper into my mattress with every second. The noises outside seemed to be muted, the bird chirps low and slow, and the buzzing in my head sounded like a giant fly hovering above me.

My legs and arms were limp, and felt like sticks attached to my body. My mind was a void. My breath was so loud, harsh and fast. Eventually, all of it, the buzzing, the chirps, my breath, faded from my mind. I was surrounded by darkness. I was floating higher, higher, higher on a golden cloud, down, down, down, into a pitch-black hole.

I didn’t remember the rest of that day, and much of the next.

***

When I woke at noon the next day, I had concocted a brilliant plan.

I leapt out of bed and threw off my stiff dress, which I had been sleeping in for the past day and a half for some reason, and pulled on the nearest thing I found, which was my nightgown. I ran out into the hallway, startling Gruoch, who was standing outside my door.

“Y-Your highness! I just checked on you, you were—“

“Gru!” I squealed, wrapping my arms around her neck. My mind was still light from all the laudanum I had taken yesterday. “I have an idea! A wonderful, wonderful idea!”

“What?” She frowned, her pretty face contorting into ugly reprehension.

I kissed her on the lips. “Don’t frown! It makes you not-pretty! Come with me and I’ll tell you everything!”

I grabbed her arm and ran down the hallway, down the steps, toward Kashlani’s room.

“You’ve been taking Laudanum, haven’t you?” she lamented, allowing herself to be pulled along. “You always come up with crazy ideas when you—“

“Shush!” I cried. I reached Kashlani’s door and barged in. She was at her mirror, wearing only a towel.

“Glau!” She shrieked, wrapping herself more tightly with the towel. “I’m not wearing—“

“I have an idea!” I said triumphantly as Gruoch covered her eyes. “And it’s a good one!”

After she had changed and everything had calmed down a bit, I sat cross-legged on Kashlani’s bed opposite her, while Gruoch took a seat on the leather armchair by the window.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” I said eagerly. “We’ll sneak out of the palace and try to find out what’s going on in the city. We’ll talk to people and see how they feel about the noble family. This will give us an idea of—“

“Glaucopis.” Gruoch was using my real name, which wasn’t a good sign. She had her head in her hands. “We can’t do that. It’s dangerous, stupid, and—how the hell did you come up with something this ridiculous?”

“Mother won’t tell us anything,” I retorted. “Or, at least she won’t tell Kashlani and I anything. So we’ll go and find out for ourselves is this is really serious or not.”

“No. It’s too dangerous. We could get killed, kidnapped. If you hadn’t noticed, _we’re in the middle of an uprising!”_

“We’ll wear disguises!” I leaned back on the bed, looking at Gruoch upside-down. “We’ll pretend to be journalists or something. No one will recognize us!”

“We can’t do this.” Kashlani was shaking her head. “People will know who we are. Our pictures are in the newspaper all the time! How could they not—“

“Fine,” I said. “If you guys won’t go, then I’ll go myself.”

“What?” Gruoch went pale. “You can’t do that!”

“I’ll go,” said Kashlani her voice panicked. “I’ll go with you if you go alone, but—“

“I won’t let you.” Gruoch’s voice was final. “I won’t let you get into this much danger. If you try, I’ll tell the Quee—“

“If you tell Mother,” I said, “I’ll tell her you gave me the newspaper.”


	4. Chapter 4

“This is a terrible idea.”

“You’ve said that like six times already.”

I checked my hair in the mirror. I had pinned it up in a severe bun, all my usually loose brown combed away from my face. My eyes were obscured behind thick, round glasses, and I was wearing a white blouse, red blazer and pencil skirt. I looked utterly unremarkable, like an office lady going home from work.

I had originally meant for all three of us to masquerade as men, but Kashlani pointed out it would be quite impossible for me to strap my breasts down enough (she would know, with all the time she spent on them). So Kashlani and Gruoch were going to be men, and I was a woman.

Gruoch folded her arms and sighed. She was wearing a black duster and boots, and her high ponytail was obscured under a top hat. She looked very gentlemanly. All she needed was a curly moustache.

Kashlani was dressed in a newspaper boy’s outfit, loose jacket, canvas pants, and satchel slung across her shoulder. A cap concealed her raven locks. She looked boyish enough to pass, especially since she was still a teenager.

“You all ready?” I asked.

Kashlani shook her head. “I’ll never be ready for this.”

“Oh, get a grip. This’ll be a great opportunity to see what—“

“Get a grip? _Get a grip?_ Real life isn’t one of your Lucy Lockhart mysteries! We can’t just throw on a disguise and gallivanting off wherever! And Gruoch doesn’t even look like a man! She looks like a woman wearing a top hat!”

I glanced at Gruoch. Kashlani was unfortunately right. “Well, um, if anyone asks, we’re actors. Anyway, come on. We need to get out of the palace before evening.”

We took a back way out, through the laundry room and kitchen. We had to dodge some maids while going through the laundry room, and only after they left were able to emerge from the pile of dirty laundry. But we were lucky dinner wasn’t for a while, so the kitchen was empty, and we were able to leave through the door where the refuse was carted out.

The winter air bit my skin, and I buttoned up my blazer tightly. I inhaled the fresh smell of rain and snow. “Smell that?”

“I can only smell dirty laundry,” said Kashlani.

“It’s the air. It’s so nice and fresh.”

“We aren’t out here to smell the air,” said Gruoch. “We’re here to see how the civilians feel about us. Let’s get this over with and go home.

We began walking. The day was gray and snowy, little flakes sticking to our clothes and hair. Since we had taken the back way out, there weren’t the usual rows of mansions and black gates, but dull gray buildings and peeling storefront signs.

Some people were in the street, dressed in thin shawls and raged despite the chill. Their faces looked pale and worn, and they hurried along.

“Why’re they dressed so lightly? It’s freezing out.” Kashlani voiced my thoughts.

“They probably can’t afford better clothing,” said Gruoch.

“Why—“

“Look, are we going to get this done?”

I glared at her. “Fine.” I waved to a passing woman. “Excuse me, miss! Would you be so kind as to—“

She passed me without a word. I stared after her, stunned. I wasn’t used to being ignored.

“Let’s go farther,” suggested Kashlani. The streets were strangely empty, for being in the capital, and so close to the palace. I would have at least expected to see some protestors. Maybe they were all at the front of the palace.

“It’s cold,” I complained. “Let’s go into a store or something to warm up. Maybe they can tell us something.”

“Look! A curry house!” Excited, Kashlani pointed to the street corner. Behind the window, a sign with green letters advertised _Madame Mandali’s Curry House._ “Let’s go there! I haven’t had curry in forever!”

I looked at Gruoch, and she sighed and took her wallet out. “All right. Come on.”

***

The inside of the curry house smelled of spices and hot food, and my mouth began to water as soon as I stepped in. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered around the room, which was lit dimly by lanterns on the walls.

A tall woman in a blue sari was behind the counter, resting her forehead on her hand. When we came in, she looked up and smiled as she saw Kashlani.

They greeted each other in Bharatan, and chatted a little before she took our orders. We went over to the window to eat, while she stayed and ate her curry with the woman, still talking.

I looked out the window, seeing the snow begin to pile up on the streets. Sometimes a car would trundle past, spitting out smoky gray from its behind.

“It seems so deserted,” I commented.

“I know. Maybe there’s a festival of some sort going on.”

The curry tasted good, and warmed me from my head to my toes. I licked my spoon, deep in thought.

I wondered how my big sister Sylviane was doing on the front lines. I was sure she was safe—she was the heir apparent, after all, and they would never allow her to be in danger. But it was awfully cold so far up north—it made winters down here look like a mild summer. I wondered how long it would take for the war to be over.

I stirred the rice around in the bowl. I pretended that the individual grains were soldiers, waiting on a battlefield. The sauce was a river, splitting the army in half.

“Stop playing with your food, Your Highness.”

“Now _that’s_ something that’s not said often,” I said, grinning. She was still grouchy from my blackmail maneuver a little while ago, but she still had it in her to crack a smile.

I took the last few bites and stood up. Kashlani was already finished eating, and Gruoch paid for us. The tall woman waved to Kashlani as we walked out, and she responded with a quick smile and a good-bye in Bharatan.

“Rahala said business hasn’t been too good lately,” said Kashlani as we began walking down the snowy street. “Her mother’s ill and she’s not getting many customers.”

“Well, no one’s going out to eat much anymore, with the food shortages and everything.”

“Yeah, actually, she mentioned that there’s a protest meeting on Reynaux Square. I guess that’s why the streets are so deserted.”

“Really? Great! Let’s go there!”

Gruoch pressed her face into her hands. “Princess Kashlani, why did you have to say that?”

“Come on! It’s a perfect opportunity to see what they’re doing! It’ll be like going undercover! Infiltrating the Resistance! We’ll listen in on their plans!”

“Oh dear god…”

“Let’s go!” I grabbed Kashlani’s hand and Gruoch’s hand in each of mine, and began to run down the street.

***

As we drew nearer and nearer, the streets were beginning to fill with people, all headed for what I assumed was the protest meeting. They were all talking animatedly with each other, some smiling, others looking worried. I caught snatches of conversation. The name Kierviste came up often. The lady that had been interviewed in the newspaper? Was she going to be there?

The square was packed from side to side, people jostling and pushing to get a spot in front of the raised podium. A woman was standing on it, talking to a man who I assumed was one of the organizers. A gigantic flag was hoisted above the podium. It was half blue and half red, with a streak of gold separating them—not the flag of our country, which was green and blue, with a white feather in the middle.

The woman turned away from the man and raised her arms. We were far away, so I couldn’t get a good look at her face, but I could see she was a very slight blonde.

_“Greetings! Brothers and sisters of Rhosgalle!”_

Her voice was loud and strong, echoing loudly and shushing everyone in the square instantly. For such a tiny woman, she had a charismatic tone, rising and falling breathlessly, then swelling to a crescendo.

_“Last week, as you know, our army was humiliatingly defeated on the banks of the Alberon River. We lost five hundred good men and women who should have been back home farming, laughing, living their lives. But the corrupt ruling family seeks to oust a royal with no connection to Rhosgalle, simply because they are allies with the previous family. Hundreds of thousands of lives lost, for a cause that has nothing to do with our country.”_

Her voice was increasing in intensity, a hint of a sob underneath her strong tone. _“Men and women in the prime of their lives lying in trenches, choking to death on mustard gas, bleeding, sobbing for their parents, dying alone. And the royal family sits in their golden palace, eating lamb chops and drinking wine, laughing with each other as their citizens die like flies. Dressing in silk and fur and glittering diamonds, only stepping out to attend their lavish dinner parties, while our brothers and sisters freeze to death in the frigid wastelands of the north. I am sure many of you have a relative—mother, father, aunt, sister—who has joined, or been forced to enlist in the army. How does it feel to know that while they starve to death in a dark forest, the royals laugh and gossip in front of their roaring fires?”_

A low buzzing, like a flock of bees, came over the square. People were beginning to mutter angrily.

 _“Why put up with this?”_ the woman roared. _“Why let them live in luxury, lording over us, while we fight their wars and grow their food? Why don’t we line them up against the wall of their palace and shoot them?”_

My legs felt like they were made of water. Despite the winter cold, I was sweating heavily. The words struck me like icicles. I reached out blindly for Kashlani’s hand and grabbed it.

I was suddenly very, very aware of how much danger I was in.


	5. Chapter 5

“Break it up!” A rough shout rose over the woman’s voice. “This is the police! This is an unauthorized rally with intent to illegally—“

Everything erupted.

Kashlani’s hand was torn out of my grasp. There was a sudden surge of people scrambling, pushing and forcing their way past us. Screams began to echo on the other side of the crowd.

They were all pushing past me like a horde of rampaging cattle, knocking me off balance and sending me skidding onto my hands and knees. Someone’s foot hit me in the square of my back, sending jarring pain up my backbone.

The screams were deafening now, interspersed with angry yells. Terrified, I began to sob. “Kashlani!” I screamed in a panic, accidentally using her real name. I struggled up and began to fight my way out of the crowd, but it was all a whirling mess of colors of people pushing, shoving, screaming in my face.

The thundering of footsteps was broken by the crack of a rifle. I lashed out wildly, not knowing which direction was which, hoping to catch a glimpse of a tall woman or dark-skinned youth.

Someone’s elbow rammed me in the stomach, and I doubled over, winded. My glasses dangled from my ear. My blazer was ripped and my bun was undone, my hair flying in my face, blinding me. I hit someone and went down, the sound of wind, screams and the harsh clack of bullets deafening in my ears.

I covered my head and curled on the ground, sobbing. I was terrified. My body was paralyzed, my heart thumping in my ears. People were scrambling over me, kicking and stomping on my legs, on body, on my head. It hurt, it all hurt so much, and it was so loud, _oh god please let it end, Gruoch—_

I felt a pair of arms wrap around me. “Get up!” shouted a woman’s voice in my ear. She tore my hands away from my scalp and pulled me up, ripping me away from the ground. I twisted, tried to get a good look at her, but she was turning away, towing me through the crowd, forcing her way through the throng of people. All I could see was the back of a head, blonde hair pinned up like a peasant woman’s.

She gripped my wrist tightly, and I began to run along with her. People jostled me, but she held me fast, balancing me, and we were able to make it farther and farther away, to the edge of the crowd.

She yanked me into the shadow of a doorway, holding me fast as she scanned the havoc that raged just a few feet away. For the first time, I saw her face in profile.

She was beautiful, like a fairy tale princess. She had alabaster skin as clear and perfect as untouched snow, and a neck as slender as a swan’s. Her face was heart-shaped, with pale cheeks lightly dusted with a hint of rosiness. Her hair was the color of white gold, loose strands pooling in the hollow of her neck. It was combed away from her forehead in a messy bun, just enough to let me catch a glimpse of the prominent widow’s peak on her forehead. Her nose was tiny and pointed, like an elf’s, fitting her dainty face just perfectly. Her lips were thin and pale, and she was gritting her jaw, her light eyebrows scrunched together in a frown.

She turned her eyes on me.

They were the color of fresh green leaves, of the palest emeralds. They drooped at the corners, giving her a faintly melancholy air. As I stared at her, they narrowed slightly. They were as beautiful as jewels, but something about them sent uneasiness sweeping down my spine. Almost unconsciously, I thought of a verse from the old nursery rhyme my wet nurse taught me. _Green eyes in hell tell lies._

“You shouldn’t have let yourself freeze like that,” she said, in a contralto deeper than I would have imagined from such a small, pretty woman.

I blinked. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar. “I… I’m sorry. I panicked. I shouldn’t have.”

“Are you hurt?” she said, stepping back to look me over. She was dressed, I noticed, in a loose white blouse laced across her bosom, and a stiff green skirt that reached her toes. That, together with her hairstyle, put me heavily in mind of the illustrations I had seen in my history books, of peasant women farming in the fields, their sleeves bunched up to their elbows as they bent to harvest crops. She was small, though—although not as short as me, she certainly had a waifish, wispy build, only exaggerated by her loose clothing. I had no idea how such a thin girl could tow me through such a frenzied crowd.

“I’m fine,” I said, which was a lie—I ached all over my body. But I needed to find my friends first before I worried about that. “I just… thank you, thank you for rescuing me.”

She nodded. “I saw you were in trouble. I couldn’t have left you there.” She held out a hand. “My name is Schizl Kierviste. And you?”

 _Schizl Kierviste._ All at once, I knew where I recognized her voice from. She was the woman on the podium, who not five minutes ago had been raising her arms to the crowd, calling for my family to be lined up and shot against the wall.

“I…I…” My voice was frozen, my tongue paralyzed. As I watched her, shadows seemed to dance across her face, casting shades of darkness on the swansdown of her skin. Her eyes, sharp as a snake’s, were fixed on mine. In a terrified moment, I realized that I had lost my glasses and my bun had become undone. My disguise was gone. I was naked before her.

“Have I met you before?”

As soon as the words left her lips I was turning, running, shouting, “I have to go!” behind me, elbowing my way through the crowd, which had thinned enough so that I could look around. There were shouts and bangs coming from the far side of the square, where a good number of people were gathered. I could hear yells and screams coming from there, and some people were taking swings at the police officers.

I stumbled across something that nearly toppled me over. Something warm and solid. I looked down, and my breath came out shot

Someone was curled on the ground, blood forming a pool around his torso. His shirt and suspenders were soaked in it, turning the off-white cloth into a dark-red stain that spread to cover his chest. He was covering his face and weeping, the quiet sobs striking my ears as louder than the commotion at the other end of the square.

I stood where I was, completely frozen, until a bullet zinged past my ear and buried itself in the lamppost a few feet to my right. Blood thrumming in my veins, my body went into overdrive, leaping over the man and rushing for the end of the square, where the streets were. I shoved people aside, my legs pumping, leaping over crumpled bodies, slipping in wet pools that I didn’t dare look down at.

I didn’t want to look down and see Gruoch’s face, blood dripping from her mouth, staring unseeing up at me.

I reached the street and ran down the rows of shops and apartments. My feet were hurting in my leather shoes, so I paused to take them off. Then I was sprinting, running down until I reached the end and then turning and running again, until the yells and gunshots faded into the distance. I reached the corner of a street, then I let myself sink down to my knees, sobbing heavily.

Oh god, why had I decided to do this? Why had I come up with such a stupid, dangerous idea?

And what about Gruoch and Kashlani? It was my fault they were stuck in this mess. Were they even alive? Had they been shot? I didn’t want to think about that possibility. About Kashlani, lying on the ground with a bullet lodged in her chest, crying as she died without a familiar hand to comfort her.

I pressed my knees together and rocked myself back and forth. Each sob was overcome by another one, and I could barely breathe. Only when I heard footsteps approaching me did I stop crying for a moment.

“Gru—“ I said, but was met by the barrel of a pistol pointed at my head.

A woman, dressed in the new fashion—short, beaded dress and bobbed, jet-black hair—was aiming her gun at me, breathing heavily. “I know who you are,” she wept, her makeup streaming in black rivulets down her cheeks.

The cold barrel pressed against my forehead, so hard it bruised. A dull pain lanced my head.

The woman was pointing a gun at me. One movement and I would die. Just one twitch of her finger and my life would be over.

I felt my bladder give out, and urine soaked my frayed skirt.

“You’re the princess. I saw you. I was watching you. They shot—they shot my little sister. My little Cherilyn. And you ran!” Her voice was unsteady, her legs were trembling, but her arm held firm, forcing it against my head.

“Please,” I whimpered. “I didn’t—I was so scared—please don’t!” Cold sweat seeped from every inch of my body, my legs trembling so hard I nearly collapsed backward.

“Schizl Kierviste was right,” she hissed. “You all deserve to die—every one of you fucking nobles!”

“I’m sorry—please—!”

But the blast of a gun silenced me.


	6. Chapter 6

The woman stumbled forward, pitching onto the ground. Her arms spread, she twitched, blood beginning to seep down her neck from a bullet hole in the back of her head.

Gruoch stood on the other end of the street, a smoking revolver in her hand.

Before I was quite aware of what I was doing, my legs were moving, and I was running, stumbling over the rough-cut cobblestones toward my bodyguard. I hit her waist-high, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face into her midriff.

“Your Highness! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” She pried my arms away from her body and bent down to look me in the eyes.

I was sobbing too hard to say anything. I heard a clatter of feet and Kashlani rounded the street corner, panting. Her cap had come off at some point, and her long raven hair was flying around her face. “Gruoch, I heard— Glau?” She stopped as she saw us, then her eyes slowly moved to the body on the ground.

“Oh my god. What happened?”

Gruoch nodded and pulled me to my feet. “We need to get out of here.”

I was still crying hard, and my legs were wobbly, but she grabbed my arm and propelled me down the street, toward the towering mansions in the distance. 

I looked back, trying to catch a glimpse of the body, but Gruoch forced my head forward. “Don’t. It will be better if you don’t look.”

We took back alleys in search of the palace, stepping in trash heaps two feet high, rats crawling across our feet. In any other situation I would have been screaming in disgust, but right now I felt like my head was in the sky, my entire mind blank. I kept replaying the scenes from the last hour in my head. The man on the ground, blood spreading in a pool beneath him. The woman aiming the gun at me, collapsing on the ground with blood oozing from the back of her head.

The smell of gunpowder. The deafening gunshots. The screaming, rampaging, wild-eyed crowd. The sound, like a horde of buffalo being shot at. Bellows and shrieks and the feeling of being stomped on, run over, my belly aching like someone had punched me.

The green adder eyes of Schizl Kierviste.

“—Glau?”

I started and looked up. Kashlani had her hand on my arm, her dark, worried eyes right in front of mine.

“We’re home.”

I looked up at the palace. There it was, all marble and gold trim behind a strong stone wall. My throat became unstuck. “Kashlani, I’m sorry—“

She shook her head and turned away. “Save it for later.”

I glumly followed her and Gruoch through the kitchen door.

***

As soon as possible, I stripped off my dirt and urine stained clothing and threw it in the garbage. Then I wrapped myself in a towel and went to Kashlani’s room. I knew she would be taking a bath, and I wanted to join her. I could have bathed by myself, but I needed to be near someone. 

Her bathroom was as big as a bedroom, all smooth white tiles and blue walls. An enormous mirror graced the wall above the sink, edged in silver. The steam from the bath had fogged it over.

Kashlani was already there, washing the filth off her skin. She looked up as I closed the door behind me, then went back to washing herself.

Her bath was enormous, taking up a third of the room. I smelled roses and vanilla, her favorite scents. She must have added a lot of it to the bath so she could get the smell of dirt off of her.

I slipped the towel off and sunk into the clear, hot water. The warm sensation spread through my entire body, and I sighed happily.

I heard a splash as Kashlani poured water over her head.

“Here, let me do it,” I said, moving forward.

She let me massage her scalp, running my fingers through her hair and undoing the tangles. “Kasha,” I said softly.

She didn’t say anything.

“I’m really, really sorry. I should have never gone out. I should have never come up with such a dumb plan, I…”

“You should have never dragged me and Gruoch into it!” she snapped suddenly, her voice making me cringe. “And threatening to tell your mother after Gruoch went out of her way to help you—that was really selfish, you know!”

“I know.” I stared at the surface of the water, miserable. “You’re right. It was cruel of me. I wish I had never done it.” Self-loathing washed over me. I had thought a dangerous scheme like that would work out, and worse, I had dragged the two people I loved most in the world into it. I could have gotten them hurt, or worse. The man lying on the ground, his shirt soaked with blood, flashed in my mind.

Kashlani had taken a bar of soap and was scrubbing her face with it. I sat down, submerging myself up to my chin, and watched her. “Hey, Kasha…”

“What?”

“Do you think the policemen should have shot into the crowd?”

“I… I mean, it was an illegal rally. They were calling for revolution, for Pete’s sake.”

”Couldn’t they have just broken it up? Some people were just listening to her speech. They weren’t revolutionaries.”

Kasha turned around, brushing a wet strand of hair off her cheek. “I don’t know. And I don’t think we really need to. We should stay out of this from now on, I think.” 

I nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” I grabbed a bar of soap and began washing the dirt off my body. If getting involved had gotten us into this much trouble, it would be better to completely distance ourselves from it altogether. After all, we had no place in the affairs of our country. Certainly not me—I was not the heir to the throne.

Even so… the sudden sweep of terror that had overcame me in the crowd, as I watched Schizl Kierviste rant against my family… the knowledge that so many people wanted us dead…I…

Kashlani long fingertips traced the sides of my body, coming up to rest on my chest. “Glau… do you remember what you said a few nights ago?”

My worries vanished in a sudden pull of desire. 

Her fingers dug into my breasts, nearly disappearing into the mound of flesh. A spider lattice of my skin showed between her spread fingers. “Your breasts are so beautiful, Glau, they’re so soft, so big!”

I withdrew, smiling. “Why are you so attached to my breasts? Sometimes I think you like them more than me!”

We played stay-away, chasing each other through the bath. With a laugh and a splash, Kashlani managed to get her weight on me, pushing me waist-deep into the waters of the pool. She stood before me, one leg resting on my shoulder, one planted firmly on the floor of the bath.

“You said you’d have to return the favor to me,” she giggled breathlessly, using the leg on my shoulder to draw my head between her legs.

I pressed my nose right up to her cleft and inhaled strongly. The smell of women’s love secretions had to have been one of the best in the world, with its heady, sour scent.

I darted my tongue out and flicked her clit with it. A tremor went along her leg on my shoulder. I gave a slow, deep lick, digging out all of her honey with one scoop of my tongue. I started licking and nibbling each individual lip, tracing my tongue along them until I came closer to the center. Slick with bathwater, she tasted like roses. Using my fingers, I spread her lips out until the pink petals looked exactly a rose.

Kashlani let out a breathy gasp when I slid a finger in. “See?” I said. “You’re the rose, and I’m your stem!”

“Oh… Glau…” she yanked her leg off my shoulder and stumbled back. I half-rose. “What’s wrong?”

But she was already sitting on the rim of the tub, spreading her legs as far as they would go. “Please me like this,” she ordered, her voice wavering. I obligingly waded over and fell to my knees in front of her.

Her cleft was the color of the faintest pink of rose petals, spread like a blossoming flower. I was the butterfly to her flower, and I was going to sip at her nectar. 

I flattened my tongue along her slit and drew it slowly upward. I nestled the sides of my head between her thighs and screwed my tongue into her hole, feeling the soft flesh contract around me.

Kashlani was making little noises as she quivered on the side of the bath. She was clutching the bath’s rim so hard her knuckles were turning white. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her mouth was open, her pink tongue extended. 

I probed inside of her, reaching up with my other hand to grip and lightly rub her clit. I pressed it down and rubbed it in circles, and a cry of pleasure was my reward.

I began to lick her deeper, tasting her rich juice as it seeped, more and more, from her. My other hand abandoned her and went down to between my own thighs. I began rubbing myself frantically, trying to coalesce the gradual burn of lust in my loins into a climax.

Her legs waved, curled around my head, and she pressed my face deeper. I kissed her deeply, digging my tongue as far as it would go. Then I quirked the tip upward.

Kasha cried out.

Had I been capable of smiling, I would have. I knew that was her favorite place.

My fingers moved faster. Finally I submerged a finger into myself, then another. I had always loved large penetration, while Kashlani preferred gentle oral sex. I gave her a last, long lick that went up her waist, past her navel, up to her breasts, and we sat facing each other, my fingers still trying to drag an orgasm out of me.

She put her hands on my shoulders and drew her towards me until I was sitting on her lap facing her, Our arms wrapped around each other, we held each other tight. Her cool mouth brushed my neck, and she sucked, her teeth making an imprint on my tanned skin. 

I could feel our heat throbbing between is, and I ached to angle our legs so that I could feel her warm softness against mine. But if I were to lean any closer, we would probably fall off the edge of the bath.

I nuzzled her chest as an apology, burying my face between her two breasts. I sucked one of them, carefully drawing the nipple in and playing with it with my tongue. Then I sucked hard, as a weaning baby, wanting more. The suction brought her so much pleasure she finally cried out, hugging my head to her chest. I thrust three of my fingers inside myself, trying to get them in as deep as possible. 

She drew herself away from me and slid into the water, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

I took her place on the ridge of the bath, rubbing my clit with one hand and pushing my fingers inside with the other. The climax was right within reach, I was teetering over the edge of a cliff. I pinched my nub and drove the fingers inside of me, as deep as they would go, and the furious heat that exploded in my belly made me cry out in happiness.


	7. Chapter 7

When I exited Kashlani’s door, dressed in a shift she had lent to me, I came face-to-face with Sister Maria Benedetta.

Maria had come to the palace several months ago to help with religious duties. My father was strictly religious, and we had always had clergy in the palace. However, because she was aging and wanted to retire, Mother Katherine had resigned, and a new nun had taken her place.

Whilst Mother Katherine was jovial and friendly, Sister Maria Benedetta was quiet. She rarely complained or said anything, but you could see the judgment in her eyes when you did something she didn’t like. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, about thirty years old, with a voluptuous figure and smoky gray eyes. However, she tried to downplay it as much as possible, concealing her body with a baggy habit and hiding her rippling night-black hair behind her veil and coif. Her seductive, marbled eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses.

When she saw me, she stepped back and bowed her head humbly. “Your Highness, your mother has sent for you. I could not find you in your room, so I…”

Her voice trailed off as they fixed on my neck, where the hickey was blossoming dark red. Her eyes darkened, and her mouth thinned.

I self-consciously brushed a strand of hair across my neck. I knew Sister Maria Benedetta did not approve of the love I practiced with Kashlani. “Can I change into a dress first?”

“She said it was urgent and that you should come as soon as possible.”

Resigned, I followed her down the hall.

After a few minutes we in front of a pair of gilded double doors. The Conference Room.

“Her Majesty the Queen is waiting for you,” she said, indicating the doors. I gripped the golden handle, shaped like the head of a dragon, and opened it.

The conference room was built to hold a hundred people, including the journalists and photographers. The room was lined with windows, the curtains of which were drawn at the moment. At the end of the table sat…

I stopped short.

Mother rose, her eyes flashing with cold anger. “Take a seat,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. I walked over and pulled out a chair, then sat down. My arms were shaking so hard I had to clasp my hands.

My whole family was there. At least, all the family that were able to come. Nireille, Mother, Father, my brothers Ianthos and Rosendo, and my uncle— the Duke of Baltieve. My sister Aspalis was still at the Bharatan court, Sylviane was with the army, and Bertrand was married and living at his wife’s court. A few of my mother’s advisors were there as well, their faces stern and set.

They knew that I had left the palace, I was sure of it. A maid had to have seen us sneaking out. They knew I had been at the rally, they knew everything…

“Look at this.” My mother slid a newspaper in front of me. I swallowed. Someone had to have spotted me at the rally. The woman with the gun certainly had. This was it. This was it…

I looked down.

_Princess Glaucopis de Vallerand Speaks Against the Royal Family_

_On Tuesday the first, 9:30, our source sat down with the third princess to discuss the ongoing warfare and the corruption of the ruling class._

_Our source was meeting her in an undisclosed location close to the capital. “I think this war is a mistake,” she said, taking off her yellow gloves and folding her hands on the table. “To wage a war over something so innocuous as a wrong heir is something that belongs in the distant past. This has nothing to do with our country.”_

_The war abroad has been a source of tension for the general public and the ruling family. Riots and protests have been gaining traction since the beginning of the year._

_“Ideally,” she went on, tapping her pen on the table, “The whole idea of the power centered in the hands of a hereditary family is absolutely foolish in this time and century. Remember Queen Bertolda the Mad? If an heir is born with mental problems, they are still going to become the King or Queen, regardless of what it means for the country.”_

Utterly perplexed, my gaze moved up to meet my mother’s. “What is this?”

“I believe _you_ should be telling me what this is,” she hissed, the newspaper crumpling in her grasp.

“I don’t know!” I cried, jumping up. “I never gave this interview! I swear! I don’t agree with any of this!”

“Is that so?” said my father, one hand resting on his chin. “Then perhaps you could tell us where you were this afternoon? None of the maids saw you in your bedroom, or anywhere else.”

I paused. “I was… I was…” I alighted on an excuse. “I was with Kashlani! We were… you know… doing stuff…” Hopefully, that would throw them off the scent. Not only did Kashlani order no one to go into her room, but my whole family knew about, and preferred to ignore, my relationship with her.

My uncle, the Duke, coughed uncomfortably. Nireille shot me a sly grin. My Mother paused for a while before answering. “How can you prove that to me?”

“Ask Kashlani! Or Gruoch, she visited us! I swear, I have nothing to do with this! This article is a lie! I never gave an interview! This is… this entire thing…” I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. The whole day had been a nightmare. Before I knew it, tears were rolling down my face.

I heard Ianthos sigh. “Mother, I don’t think Glaucopis did this. She was here all day last Tuesday, remember? She was playing cards with her bodyguard and Princess Kashlani.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. The King Consort Giorgios had never liked me, at least, never since I had entered puberty.

He was a deeply religious man who disapproved of many if not all sexual relations—even though he had fathered four more children than needed with his wife. Ever since I had begun to seek pleasure, he had withdrawn from me, becoming cold and unfriendly. He preferred my brother Rosendo, a priest. They were in the habit of having stultifying conversations about God and religion that lasted hours at a time.

He was a tall, lean man, with olive skin and a scraggly goatee. He towered head and shoulders above his wife, but lagged behind when it came to body fat, seeming nothing but skin and bones. His clothes, whatever size they were, always hung off his frame like a robe on a skeleton. He folded his arms, still eying me. “Glaucopis, what have I told you about that girl? Being in such relations with her is improper and an embarrassment to the Royal family. She—“

My mother cut him off with a wave. “We’ll discuss that some other time. Ianthos, are you sure she was here at that time?”

“Yes. I myself stopped in on them, as well as a number of maids.”

The table lapsed into silence for a few moments. I took the time to interject, “I also don’t wear yellow!”

My brother Rosendo nodded grudgingly. “It’s true, she hates the color. Remember when you tried to make her wear a yellow dress? She had such a fit it took half a bottle of laudanum to—“

“All right, all right, yes, she hates yellow, I’m aware of that. But even so, there has to be a reason—“

“She’s not very politically savvy either,” said the Duke. “Glaucopis is much too flighty to care about things that aren’t games and her girlfriends. I mean, this article gets everything wrong about her—“

“Silence!” my mother barked, and when the sniggers died down, she rested her forehead on her hand and sighed. “I should have never loosened the controls on the press. I thought it would endear the people to us, but what do they do? _What do they do?_ Print lies and call for revolution! They criticize us for staying in the capital while the war’s going on! Have they forgotten that the very heir to the throne is wasting away in the north with the army? They’re all—“

“I believe this is a plot on behalf of the media to get us to turn against each other,” interrupted my father. “We all know they’re on the side of the protestors.”

She nodded grimly. “That’s why I’m reinstating my controls on the press, starting tomorrow. So get out, every one of you, so I can start on that.”

With a great deal of grumbling, my extended family got up and began to file out. I left through the door, my body numb. The entire ordeal of the day had left my mind so blank I didn’t notice my aunt until she put a hand was on my shoulder. “Glau?”

I looked up. “Aunt Nireille?”

“Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?”

I looked down. Tears were still swimming in my eyes. “Not… not good.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Ystele gets upset about small things. I don’t think she really believed it was you.”

I stared at my feet. “Really?”

“Of course. She loves you. She loves all of her children. Even if she doesn’t have enough time to show it, she wants you to be happy.”

“If you say so…”

She elbowed me in the ribcage. “Why else would she let you get up to all these scandalous affairs? With the head of the maids, with the ambassador’s daughter, with the royal hostage?”

“Auntie!” I squealed, hiding my face. She laughed, and soon I was laughing too. Nireille always got me laughing after being in her presence long enough. She knew how to have fun.

When I departed, I was not without my worries, but I was a great deal happier than I was before.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next few months, I busied myself with my hobbies and tried not to pay attention to the political atmosphere of my country. However, it was impossible to ignore the whispering that went on in the corridors, hints that it was getting worse day by day, even after I downed more laudanum to make a horse faint. The thoughts stewed away, distracting me however much I tried to occupy myself with other interests. Nightmares of being caught in the riot jerked me up at night, my body doused with cold sweat as I shook uncontrollably.

“Queen Alvarnise II and many of her court fled Rhosgalle in 1209, leaving her court in ruins with many of their leading nobles gone—“

“Mm-hmm.”

“—the opposing Duchess Cremilde of Borstadt took control of the court for a time, during which—“

“..Yeah…”

“—Your Highness, are you listening?”

I sighed. “No.”

“What’s on your mind? You seem distracted. More than usual, I mean.”

Svetlana Karevna was an older woman with shoulder-length gray hair, which was always coming loose from her braid. She wore stiff dresses and starched lace collars, and affected a stern attitude towards those in positions of authority. However, when away from those constrictions—while teaching me, for example—she loosened up quite a bit.

“Well, I was just thinking about the country.” I left it vague, not quite wanting to express my feelings. Mrs. Karevna rested her chin on her hands and nodded. By the way she was looking at me I knew she wanted me to continue.

“I know I’m not supposed to get involved with things like this… but I mean, with the Summer Palace and the riots…I’m just worried!”

She blinked during my impassioned last words. “Your Highness, I understand. These are trying times.”

I slumped over the books on the table, hiding my face in my arms.

“But, you know what? I think you’ll be fine.”

I tilted my head up. “I don’t know. I thought it would all die down, but it’s been going on for so long,a and getting worse…”

“Listen to me. You remember the revolution in Baltieve twenty years ago, do you not?”

“Oh! Yes! Sort of!” It had been spoken of often when I was a young child, and especially now, with the new uprisings, gained special interest. I had disregarded it lately, with my dislike of history, but now it seemed to gain a certain importance.

“Then let me tell you something. The populace of Baltieve rose up after a severe famine and heavy taxes levied on them. After they deposed the royal family—executed them, I should say—they installed a ‘republic’. But the surrounding countries, including Rhosgalle, thought that it would be an example to the citizens of their countries, and that they would oust the traditional monarchy, which had ruled for hundreds of years. So they invaded Baltieve, installed a relative of the family as queen, and reinstituted the monarchy. Do you see? No one would be so foolish as to overthrow the country. Because they would know it would have failed—none of the other countries will permit a ‘republic’.”

I nodded. “So our citizens will never dare to—because the other countries won’t let them!”

“Exactly!”

I beamed. That made the whole situation a whole lot more uplifting.

“All right, are you still paying attention? Because we have two more chapters to go.”

I groaned and slumped my head down again.

***

“Do you think?”

“Absolutely. There is one among us.”

I had been walking through the palace, looking for Kashlani, who had not been in her room. I had checked the gardens and was heading for the kitchen when I overhead my mother’s conversation with General Marjorie Geldermann.

“Certain information has made its way to the rebels. They knew exactly where to ambush us at the Straits of Gent. They are listening.”

I stayed where I was, frozen. Their voices became quieter, and I crept closer, putting my ear to the door.

“I can’t believe it…”

“We have to be cautious. It’s definitely someone in the palace… someone living with us.”

I heard a chair being pushed back and I retreated, afraid they had heard me. I hurried along the hall, my mind buzzing. Suddenly I felt very, very vulnerable.

“Oof!”

I bumped into someone coming around the corner. It was Gruoch, a dress draped over her arm.

“There you are! I was looking for you. You left your—“

“Gru! Gru!” I cried. I grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward my room. “What is it this time?” she said, sounding a little resigned. She was used to my flights of fancy, and wasn’t too upset at my panicked manner.

As soon as we were safely locked behind the door, I gripped her shoulders (standing on my tiptoes, as she was quite a few feet taller than me) and stared her in the eyes as best I could. “I just overheard my mother and the general. She said we… we have a traitor in our midst.”

Her eyes widened and her face went pale. “Wh-what?”

“I heard them! They said so! They said… certain information, like… something about the Straits of Gent… or something!”

Gruoch hugged me. “Calm down, Your Highness. Take deep breaths.”

I gasped for air as she stroked my head. “We have to do something! Someone’s passing information to the rebels—“

I heard a knock on the door. “Glau? Can I have my book back? I was hoping to finish—“

I wrenched open the door and dragged Kashlani inside, then securely locked the door again.

”You won’t believe what I just heard—“

Kashlani crossed her arms. “What dumb thing are you getting worked up about now?”

“It’s not dumb! Listen to me! I just overheard a conversation between my mother and the General, and they said we have a _traitor_ —“

“Don’t speak so loud!” hissed Gruoch. “I bet they want to keep this a secret. We definitely shouldn’t mention this to anyone.” She folded her arms and looked nervously at the door. “If this gets out then the traitor himself will find out.”

“Or herself,” I said. “Who could it be?”

“Hold it, hold it. Say that again. We have a _traitor_ in the palace? From who, the northern armies?” Kashlani was massaging her forehead

“They said from the rebels. She said they attacked us at the Straits of Gent, and that’s in our country. I think.”

Kashlani frowned. “They’re attacking us? I thought it was just protestors. Now we’re fighting a war with them, too?”

“The tension has been getting worse lately,” said Gruoch. “There’s been bands of rebels attacking Royal Offices, and lately, they seemed to be getting more organized.”

My breath came up short. “No way…”

“We’re already fighting a war! We don’t need another one now!” Kashlani was agitated, throwing up her hands and pacing around the room. “This is not fucking good!”

I was startled. Kasha never, ever swore. “W-well, I mean, maybe things will settle down after this, after we defeat the rebels—“

“Settle _down?_ _That’s not going to happen!_ We won’t be able to defeat the rebels, we’re already fighting a war! How are things going to settle down if we’re so weak we…” she paused. “Oh god. We’re all going to… to…”

She stopped and began to shiver. Sympathy and anger began welling inside me. I hated seeing Kashlani sad or upset. I walked over and gripped her hand. “Listen, Kasha. Since we know, how about we do something about it?”

She looked up. “Huh?”

“Think about it. We’ll find out who the traitor us. All three of us.” I turned to Gruoch. “Let’s make a pact. We’ll keep this a secret, but we’ll try and find out who’s the mole. I’m done with ignoring our country’s needs.”

Kashlani grinned, and after a moment, Gruoch did too. “Let’s do it,” said Kashlani. Gruoch nodded, her face slowly hardening.

I held my hand out, and Kashlani placed hers on mine. Then Gruoch placed hers above Kashlani’s. Our hands were warm above each others, the pact was sealed.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been a fine summer day when I met Kashlani for the first time. Her mother, Rani Lalitha, was standing opposite my mother, talking with her. I quickly became bored with their conversation, which seemed to be about official stuff like treaties and alliances, and peeked around my mother and the girl hiding behind the Rani.

Although the Rani was gilded and magnificent in her gold jewelry, swathed in a blood red cloth, the girl behind her was dressed in the fashion of our court, in a stiff purple dress. She looked at me timidly, then hid behind her mother once more. She was a short girl for her age—little did I know she would soon surpass me in height. She had a plump face and anxious eyebrows, and kept looking up at her mother, mouthing pleas in a language I didn’t know.

The Rani soon tired of her daughter’s pestering, and shoved her toward me. “Go and play with the Princess, Kashlani,” she said in clipped, accented tones.

She stumbled forward, looked back at her mother, then I crept out and offered a hand. “Hi! I’m Glau.”

She took my hand and let me lead the way away from our mothers. Her hand was small and warm, but she lagged a bit, looking back.

“Come on! Let me show you the gardens!”

The rosebushes were in full bloom, blue, white and red roses covering the edges of the wall like sprinkles of paint. The grand stone walls shielded us from the outside world. I led her toward the bench that faced the gardens, my favorite place in the world.

Even with the assortment of vibrant flowers, her face remained sad and withdrawn.

“Hey.”

I gripped her hand. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“I do not speak much your language,” she muttered, still trying to hide her face.

“Um…okay!” I paused and ran toward the rosebushes, picking a few roses to give to her. “Here!”

She looked at the flowers in her hand, her face impassive. Then she dropped them and drew her knees up on the bench, burying her face in her legs.

“Oh… K-Kashl..lani?”

Her shoulders shook with sobs. Panicking a little bit, I tried to put an arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?” I said.

“I miss,” she said.

“You miss what?”

“M-Mother! Father! Little sister!”

I was a bit confused. Why was she so upset about leaving her family? Mother was always away, and Father was busy. All my brothers and sisters were older than me and had better things to do.

Even so, I could see that she was upset. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Let’s play a game!”

She lifted her head a bit. “What game?”

“Um… a board game! Checkers!”

She blinked. “I… checkers?”

“Oh, maybe you don’t have that.”

She looked down at her feet again.

I thought for a little bit. “Marbles?”

A spark of recognition burned in her eyes. _“Kancha!”_

“I’m sorry?”

 _“Kancha!_ We will play _kancha!”_

“O-Okay! Let’s go to my room, I’ll show you my marbles!”

I had a big glass jar with all my marbles in it. It was so heavy I staggered as I took it off the shelf. I clunked it to the floor and took a handful out. I looked at her. “All right, now take out your marbles.”

Her face fell. “I have none.”

“Well, let’s go to your luggage and get them out.”

“I have none. They are all back home.”

“Oh…” things were starting to slowly make sense. “So, they didn’t let you bring your toys?”

“No toys, or clothes. Or books.”

“What did you bring, then?”

“Nothing.”

The word was very quiet. Her voice had lost the trembling it had during the beginning of our conversation, and had become rather flat. Like she didn’t even care anymore. I felt sympathy squeeze my insides.

I dipped a hand into my jar and handed her a fistful of marbles. “Okay. We’ll play marbles. If you win, you get to keep my marbles for good, okay?”

She nodded. I placed a marble in the middle of the floor and retreated a few feet away. She took aim carefully, squeezing the marble, and…

_Plink!_

“Wow! On your first try! You’re really good at this!”

Kashlani was smiling, a bit bashfully. “I play a lot.”

Twenty minutes later, she had won the whole hand from me, and I was beginning to worry that soon I might be deprived of my entire collection.

She jiggled the marbles in her hand, smiling. “These are mine, yes?”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, resting my chin on my hands. I heard the jiggling stop. A sudden sob tore from her throat.

Before I knew it she was crying, muffling her tears in the sleeve of her stiff dress. Panicked, I jumped up and rushed over. “It’s okay! Kash—It’s all right! Please stop crying!”

“I want to go home,” she sobbed. “I don’t like it here, people look at me strangely! It’s so cold here… my mother will be gone, and all—all my family, and I’ll be alone…”

“No,” I said firmly. “You won’t be alone, because I will be here with you. Okay?”

She looked up, her eyes watery. “P-Princess…”

“Don’t call me Princess. Call me Glau. Okay?”

I hugged her tightly and pressed my face into her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll be your friend and you don’t have to worry about anything. If you get upset, or lonely, or scared… just come to me, and I will make you feel better.”

She was still hiccupping, but I felt her nod once, hesitantly. I withdrew and held her face in my hands. “Do you want to play some more marbles?”

She wiped her eyes, a watery smile on her face. She nodded.

***

Kashlani and I became best friends. We were uniquely bound, both having the same status, and being girls around the same age. I had no other princesses my age, just maids and children of servants. Kashlani was someone who I could talk to as an equal, laugh with without worrying if she was holding back to avoid offending me. We would sneak food from the kitchen, hide in the gardens after our bedtime and make everyone panic, and sleep together when we felt lonely. I thought of her as a sister I never got to have.

Of course, when I got older, I began to get interested in other girls. I had my first girlfriend when I was thirteen. She was the daughter of an overseas governor, come to visit. She was a bit of a ruffian, and we didn’t get along at first. I didn’t like her because I thought she was uncultured, she didn’t like me because she thought I was namby-pamby. We wrestled and fought a lot, until one day she ended up kissing me and admitted that she had rather enjoyed our wrestling games. We never got very far beyond that, because she went back with her mother to whatever far-off province she was governing.

Around that time, Kashlani started to become distant. She didn’t talk to me as much, and started spending a lot of time alone. I guessed she was just going through some weird phase, so I shrugged my shoulders and let her be. I had a lot more to amuse myself with, like the daughter of an ambassador, whom I had quickly become involved with. I was around fifteen at the time, and Evette was my first full-time lover. We shared quarters, ate together, bathed together, did everything together. I spent nights in her arms, and during the day dreamed of when we would soon have the chance to retire to bed.

Evette was soon traveling with her mother back to her home country, and I bathed the palace in my tears. Kashlani did not make any attempt to comfort me. Whenever I tried to speak to her or rest my head on her shoulder, she would ignore me. If I attempted to press the issue, she would glare. I soon took this to mean she did not want to be my friend anymore.

Another string of lovers followed, from the head of the maids (who was fired, although for no reason relating to our relationship—she had been caught stealing jewelry) to a visiting commander (who was a good friend of Gruoch, which made things a bit awkward) to a famous film actress, Vivian Ionesco. It was at this time, with Vivian, that my chain of lovers ended.

I had been at a party chatting with a friend when I spotted, out of the corner of my eye, Vivian kissing a man. Some slimy noble’s son, with flat blonde hair and so many bangles on his uniform I was surprised he hadn’t keeled over under the weight of it. Vivian, a beautiful woman with scarlet hair and seductive sappire-blue eyes, had her arms thrown around his shoulders and was kissing him passionately.

I had thrown my drink at them and stormed off, sobbing. I stomped down the hallway and climbed the stairs leading to my room. I opened the door, feeling for the light switch. When it turned on, I saw a familiar figure sitting on the bed.

She had her shoulders slumped and her head bowed so that a curtain of black hair shielded her face. When I approached, her head snapped up.

There were tears glittering in her eyes and on her face. “K-Kasha?” I said, surprised and a little worried. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

“Glau,” she said, her voice choked. She stared at me for a moment, then her face twisted. “Why do you do this?”

“What?” I took a step back.

“Running around with all these women! You don’t love any of them!”

“That’s not true! I loved Evette!”

“You were infatuated with her. You didn’t love her.”

“Well, who are you to tell me who I can and can’t love?”

“Glau!” she yelled, and stood up. She strode over and pushed her face up to mine. I took a step back. “You foolish girl! How come you don’t notice?”

“Don’t notice what?”

She let out a breathy sigh, then stepped back. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “Glau…I…I love you.”

“What?” I felt disbelief sweep my body. Kashlani was my best friend. Or, she had been, anyway. How could she say she felt this way about me? “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said? I _love_ you, stupid!”

She grabbed my face and kissed me deeply. I was stunned I couldn’t move. I felt her soft lips on mine, her tongue pushing inside, and my mind went blank.

She drew away suddenly, and rested her face on my shoulder. “Glau. I don’t now if you feel the same way about me, but I… I think I love you. I really do.”

I felt sudden tears prick at my eyes, too. I threw my arms around her. “Oh, Kasha!”

We embraced for a long time, and I became suddenly aware of how long it had been since we hugged. I stayed close, enjoying her body warmth and the feeling of her slender arms wrapped around me.

“Kasha,” I murmured. “I’m not sure I feel the same way you do. But I’d be happy to try and be your girlfriend. You are a very precious person to me.”

She stroked the back of my head. “Then, will you spend the night with me? If you can’t go through with it, I understand,” she said quickly, “But…”

“No! I will. Kasha, if I’m going to be your girlfriend, then I want to do everything that girlfriends do together.” I slid my hand down the back of her dress, looking for the buttons.

We spent our first night together, and since then, I had no one else.


	10. Chapter 10

The ballroom was done up for the festivities, the magnificent crystal chandelier lit, tables set up piled with sumptuous food, and beautifully-dressed men and women whirling on the dance floor. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. I lounged on a red velvet sofa, drinking a goblet of champagne. I was wearing a rich blue off-the-shoulder dress, gathered up at the waist and sent cascading down to the floor in a wave of blue silk. Sapphires adorned my wrists, neck and ears, festooned my hair, which was coiled in a bun on the top of my head. I had spent hours in my boudoir getting ready. I had applied makeup, wiped it off, did and redid my eyebrows, swiped lipstick across my mouth, and I was finally ready. This was the first celebration for months, ever since the riots started to take a new, terrifying turn.

It was my mother’s birthday, and everyone who was anyone was invited. I saw Vivian, with her new squeeze—the producer of her latest movie. I ground my teeth and turned my gaze away, looking for any new faces.

I spotted Kashlani out of the corner of my eye, being talked up by a young noblewoman. She looked quite exasperated and kept trying to edge away, but the woman was persistent and kept cornering her.

A few fresh-faced youths were attending the ball, tripping over their high heels and awkwardly dancing with other socialites. They looked to be nobles recently come of age. Unfortunately, none of them were nearly as attractive as the last batch. Bored, I took a swig of champagne. There was Nireille, cuddling with her newest beau—holy lord, was that the Earl of Vestonbury? He looked more gaunt then I remembered. Hadn’t his house been destroyed in the riots?

I saw a black-robed figure talking with another in a dark corner and bolted upright, nearly upsetting my glass of champagne all over the front of my beautiful dress. I sat it down on the polished table and stood up, keeping my eyes on the two figures.

What was Sister Maria Benedetta doing here? She hated parties. She thought them frivolous and indulgent.

Perhaps… perhaps she was…

I began slowly making my way over to them, chatting a little with the surrounding guests, all the while approaching them little by little.

Maria Benedetta was talking with Brother Innocenzio, the son of the Duchess of Ralbreigh. He had definitely been invited to the party, no doubt about that. He had left his parochial wear at home and was dressed normally, in a suit and tie.

They were huddled close together, frowning as they talked. Maria Benedetta looked up and scanned the crowd, so I turned away and pretended to be talking with someone else. But when I turned back, Innocenzio was rejoining the crowd, and the good Sister was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing internally, I stood on my tiptoes to see over the heads of the guests. I spotted a black-cowled figure hurrying toward a back door.

“Princess Glaucopis!”

“Not now.” I shoved past the Ambassador of Latalie and headed for the disappearing figure. Moments after she disappeared through the door I was rushing through and shutting it tightly behind me.

I took the moment to kick off my high-heeled shoes. I would be able to walk silently with my bare feet upon the floor.

We were in the Hall of Portraits. All of my ancestors from nearly five hundred years ago were lined up, in portraits and tapestries—or name plates if they hadn’t been depicted in their lifetime.

I was not there, of course—my older sister Sylviane was the heir apparent. But I did appear in a portrait of my family, painted when I was ten or eleven.

My mother dominated the portrait, resplendent in the foreground in a ruffled dress of leaf green. She looked like a goddess surrounded by her progeny, her hands curled around them, her chin uplifted and her face proud. My siblings were all gathered around her—Sylviane was behind her in her military dress, her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Rosendo was stiff, his hands clasped behind his back, and Ianthos was beside him, the only one who was smiling in the portrait.

Little light-haired Aspalis was not there, having been sent off to the Bharatan courts. Bertrand was standing there, looking as if his mind was somewhere else, and there I was, sitting by my mother’s feet, clad in a purple gown. I looked quite silly—I was at that age when I was obsessed with putting as many bangles as possible on myself, and my hair was in that silly double braids style I used to have. I moved on hurriedly.

Portraits swept past me, stiff-shouldered women and old men, painted in peeling colors and dying paint. I rounded the corner and heard the door at the end of the hall snap shut. I crept slowly towards the closed door and pressed my ear against it.

I could hear Maria Benedetta’s voice, low and muttering, and another woman’s voice. I could only hear snips and snatches.

“… along well?”

“..stop this...”

“..dangerous…not sure…”

There was a sudden pause.

“…you later…”

“Very well.”

I heard footsteps, and with a sudden terror, realized how vulnerable I was. I threw myself backwards just as the door opened.

Sister Maria Benedetta emerged from the darkness and froze, seeing me standing there. “Your Highness, what do you…?” her voice was questioning, submissive, but with an undertone of raw anger.

“Sister Maria,” I breathed, my mind in a whirlwind.

“What brings you here?” she said humbly, her eyes burning.

I reached down and brought my skirts up. “Maria Benedetta,” I said, affecting a low, sultry tone. “I have been watching you for a long while.”

She seemed unsure, taking a step back, her eyes glued to my uncovered lower body. I didn’t like the voluminous underwear that my mother and sisters seemed to affect, and wore nothing underneath my dress. If no one could see, what did it matter? My cleft was full on display for her, the swollen lips jutting out from my lower body.

“Maria,” I said. “Or should I say, Francesca.”

Her face went white.

“Why do you deprive yourself of the pleasures of women? It is joy without trouble. Pure lust, without the worries of conceiving a child.”

She was stiff, her black habit still, and she looked at me as if I was the devil come to life. I reached down and rubbed myself.

“Don’t you feel desire when you see me? How does it feel to know I’m fucking Kashlani, but not you?”

My voice was teasing, seductive. In the dim light, I could see redness seeping into her face. She was biting her lip so hard it looked as if it might start to bleed.

“You are a debauched whore,” she said, her voice quiet and deadly. Then she brushed past me, heading back to the party.

I heaved a sigh of relief. She had believed me. I let my skirts down and smoothed them over.

Although… she had never been so rude as to insult me to my face before. I had seen it in her eyes when I came out from Kashlani’s room, but she was wise enough never to insult the royal family. Until now.

She hated me that much… perhaps that was why she supporting the rebellion. I shivered. I knew I would have a hard time sleeping tonight. Some laudanum was certainly in order.

***

“Are you _sure_ she’s the mole?”

“Positive. I mean, why else would she be having such a suspicious conversation away from the party? There’s something she doesn’t want us to know about.”

“It could be something else. Something illegal, but not… this. Not ferrying information to the rebellion. I mean, could you really see—“

“Of course I could really see her doing it! She pretends to be polite, but I can see she hates me! She’s so suspicious… always running around under our noses…”

Gruoch sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on her, how about that?”

“Yes! Please do! A very close eye!”

Kashlani was resting her chin on her hand, looking thoughtful. “You know, Sister Maria Benedetta did come around the time that the unrest began.”

Gruoch nodded uneasily. “That’s true.”

We were in the sitting room, having tea and cookies while the sun shone through the crystal windows. It was a rare sunny day so late in winter, and we wanted to enjoy every minute of it.

Kashlani lifted her blue porcelain cup and took a dainty sip. I munched on a cookie. Gruoch leaned against the wall, looking elsewhere. She seemed more tired lately, dark rings under her eyes. I could tell the stress of the war, the rebellions, were getting to her, although she would never admit it to me.

I heard a knock at the door. “Glaucopis?”

“Ianthos! Come on in!” I brightened. I liked Ianthos. He was older than me, but he had always been great fun. He opened the door and stepped in.

He was a young man with light brown hair and a bright smile. He had the figure of my father, tall and gangly, with a thin face and prominent sideburns. Unlike my father, he was always teasing and cheerful. He approached Gruoch with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t see you at the ball last night. I was hoping to dance with you.”

She huffed. “I knew you would be there, so I didn’t go.”

He laughed. It was common knowledge that he was infatuated with Gruoch. He had been pursuing her for years and she kept rebuffing him. But Gruoch didn’t care for romance. That was just the way she was.

“Ianthos, did you dance with anyone?” asked Kashlani, smiling.

“Weeelll, after I realized Gruoch wouldn’t be coming to dance with me, I had a very nice time spending the night with Lady Brennoch...”

“Lady Brennoch? Doesn’t she live near Partridge Street—Where the riots started? The Earl of Vestonbury lived near there! They destroyed his house!” Kashlani bolted up, her eyes wide.

He looked mildly surprised at this. “Oh, yes, well, I know, Bren was in the line of fire, but she wasn’t hurt. She managed to get out just in time.”

“That’s a relief…” I muttered. “Looks like they aren’t going and attacking every noble who dares to exist.”

Ianthos looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think you should worry about that. Glau, Kashlani, I wanted to talk about something with you.”

“What?” I took another bite of cookie.

“We might be… moving soon.”

“Moving? What do you mean? Just us?”

“The whole court.”

I choked on a mouthful of crumbs. Kashlani smacked my back until I coughed all the matter out of my lungs.

“What the hell are you—“

“You know things have been getting worse and worse, right? With the rebellions and the riots and everything. We’re trying to convince Mother to leave the country for a little while.”

“Leave the country?”

“Yes. Listen, Glau, we’ve been waiting for things to get better for far too long. But things keep getting worse. The war abroad is not ending, our people are rebelling… we think it would be in our best interests to, um, leave.”

The whole room was silent. We all knew what he was insinuating. There were clinks as Kashlani’s cup trembled in her saucer. Gruoch was as still as a statue.

“You’re not saying that… we’re going to abandon the country. “My voice was a squeak.

He sighed. “I don’t like it any more than you do. But I don’t want to be in danger. None of us do. And it would only be for a little while, you know, until things calm down. You know the country won’t be able to sustain itself without a monarchy. Furthermore, none of the other countries would allow Rhosgalle to be without a royal family. They wouldn’t stand for it.”

I wrapped my hands around my body, shivering. “So we’re… we’re fleeing the country? When?”

“I need to convince Mother first. She doesn’t want to abandon Rhosgalle.”

I could definitely imagine it would take a lot of work to persuade her to leave. She was a woman with an incredible amount of pride and loyalty for Rhosgalle, and matters of the country would always be first and foremost in her mind. For her to abandon it would be unthinkable.

I looked down, my heard thumping. Kashlani’s eyes were wide and her fists were clenched on the table. Gruoch was looking away, her jaw tight.

To abandon Rhosgalle would mean admitting defeat. The country that surrounded and nurtured us would be lost, and we would be exiles from it. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t. I loved Rhosgalle and I loved its people.

Somehow, I managed to make myself speak. “I… all right. If you think we’re in that much danger, then…”

Ianthos put a warm hand on my shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Things are very bad, Glau. Very bad.”

He left, and the soft click of the door seemed to echo for minutes. None of us said anything. Our tea was cold. Kashlani buried her face in her hands.

“We need to redouble our efforts,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “We need to find the mole.”

Kashlani looked away. “What’s the use? Things are already on a track that can’t stop. Even if we found the mole, I doubt it would do anything. This is too big for us to solve.”

“Listen! It’s not too late. We know that most decisions are made here, yes? In the palace? All the generals have to come here to discuss battle tactics with Mother. If we rat out the mole, no one will be able to pass along the important information. We’ll have a fighting chance!”

Gruoch sighed. As I watched her, her eyes seemed to take on a glint of affection. “You’re always hopeful, Your Highness. You always think things are going to turn out all right.” Her voice had the tone of crushing defeat. It made more tears spring to my eyes.

“We can do this! Gruoch, you’re my bodyguard, you can go to different places as me. People don’t watch you as much. You can do it…”

My voice was wavering, and I wiped my eyes, forcing myself to keep it all down. Gruoch reached out and stroked my face, her long, pale fingers curling protectively over my cheek. “If you will it, Your Highness, I will follow the nun. Until I find her out, or I clear her of all wrongdoing.”

I longed to press my face into her chest and sob, but I wasn’t a child anymore. Instead, I caught her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Gruoch.”

The sun shining into the room seemed brighter than ever, and I felt a little of it begin to seep into my heart.


	11. Chapter 11

“Guess what we’re doing for literature today?” said Mrs. Barron. Her voice had a lilt of excitement to it that I didn’t usually hear.

“A romance?” I perked up. I did like romances, especially the ones with lots of kissing. I was fortunate so many of the classics were romances.

“Not quite. It’s a legend from your homeland.” Mrs. Barron took a gold-bound book from the top shelf and stepped of the ladder.

“Rhosgalle?”

“No, Graecia.”

“I’m not Graecian. I’m Rhosgallish.”

“Well, your father is Graecian. And he said we had to have more stories from his home country in your curriculum. So I’m starting with one you should probably know by now—it’s called _Glaucopis.”_ She set it down in front of me. The title was _The Great Works of Cencelia the Elder_.

“Glaucopis! That’s my name!” Interested, I sat up as she began to page through the book. Mrs. Barron was a young woman, about twenty, undyingly patient, even to an overactive ten-year-old like me.

“Indeed. It was your grandmother’s name as well. _Glaucopis_ is the title of one of Graecia’s myths. Cencelia the Elder collected in this book along with other folk tales a very long time ago.” That’s what I liked about Mrs. Barron. She didn’t make me memorize dates or anything, she just told me “not so long ago” and “a very long time ago” when she wanted me to know when it was written.

“Princess Glaucopis was born the daughter of and King Herolius and Queen Anthemone of Salymnia. One day, her father fell ill.”

I propped my head on my wrists.

“Her father was very sick. Glaucopis wept and cried, and asked if she could cure him.

‘Go to the farthest reaches of our country,’ he said, ‘and bring me back the herb that grows at the tip of the tallest mountain, and you shall save me.’“

I listened, enthralled by her tale. The princess Glaucopis had come upon so many challenges, from a sentient tree that asked her riddles, to a massive monster that could only be defeated by a lame woman. She battled and fought, strived for victory, and she eventually, she came upon the bare mountaintop where the herb grew. She took the wispy weed and safely tucked it into her dress, then she traveled across the land, sailed across the sea back to Salymnia. When she arrived, she stepped off the ship onto the island of her birth.

“The palace was hung with mourning cloth, men and women weeping and crying. ‘Why do you mourn?’ asked Princess Glaucopis.

‘Your father, the King, has died,’ they said.

She let out a cry and ran to his bedchamber. Queen Anthemone was weeping over his corpse. Glaucopis ran out of the palace, her body wracked with misery. She wept and screamed and raged at the gods for allowing this to happen. Then she ran to the cliffs, the high cliffs with the waves crashing below, and flung herself on the sharp rocks that littered their bottom.”

My head shot up. “So she died?”

“Yes. For you see, the tale of _Glaucopis_ is a tragedy.”

I blinked. “A tragedy…”

“A tragedy is a tale that always ends in misfortune. No matter who the hero is, no matter what she does, no matter how hard she tries, her story will always end in calamity.”

I stared at the gold-lined book, at a loss for words. “Why did my parents name me after her?”

“Well, they named you after your grandmother, not the mythological figure. But I can understand how you might be upset. It’s good to remember this is fiction. This never happened. And her name has no effect on who you are. You will have a happy ending, Your Highness, I'm sure of it.”

***

“Your Highness! I’ve found out something about Sister Maria Benedetta!”

Gruoch’s urgent whisper put me immediately on guard. I turned around to face her, whispering quietly as to not catch the attention of my maids.

“What is it?”

“She’s been visiting Brother Innocenzio’s house. He lives on the west side of the city—the part that’s been nearly destroyed by the riots. But listen: His house is the only nobleman’s manor that hasn’t been attacked or destroyed.”

My eyes widened. “Really? That’s… suspicious, to say the least.”

“That’s not all. I tailed her and saw her conversing with… some unsavory characters.”

“Unsavory? What manner of unsavory?”

“Dressed in…uniforms. Rebel uniforms. One had a patch on their breast, of their flag.”

“No!”

“Yes. This is it, Your Highness. You were right.”

I grabbed her by her lapels. “We need to turn her in to my mother! We—“

“No!” she hissed. “Keep it down!”

I glanced over my shoulder at the maids. They were gossiping about something or another and were ignoring us.

Gruoch spun me around to look at her. “We don’t have enough evidence. We’ll look like fools if we bring this up to her. And if we tell your mother, Sister Maria Benedetta will know we’ve been following her. Let’s wait until we get some hard evidence. Documentation of some sort, or a recording…”

I swallowed and nodded. “All right, then. But we’d better do it fast.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

I turned away as she left, my eyes scanning the library. My eyes alighted on Lady Brennoch, sitting on a sofa and quietly reading. What was she still doing here?

I picked up a book and leisurely walked over, pretending to be searching for a place to sit. “Mind if I sit here?” I asked.

Lady Brennoch looked up. She was a beautiful thing, in her mid-thirties but with the youthful face of a young woman. Her hair was blonde, in a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. She wore modest clothing, like a pilgrim woman, with black dresses that covered her ankles and a thick bonnet that cocooned her head. She was from a long line of religious dissenters, and her family had not quite abandoned that mentality. However, religious beliefs aside, that had certainly not restrained her from starting an affair with my brother.

“Not at all.”

“Thank you.” I sat down beside her, opening the book and pretending to read it.

”What are you reading?” she asked after a second.

I looked down. _Early Thirtieth-Century Treatises on Agricultural Taxes in Rhosgalle._ “Nothing,” I said. “What are you reading?”

 _“The Gale in The Night._ Have you read it?”

 _The Gale in The Night_ was a famous novel by the author and playwright Lorenya Tresaevaru. Mrs. Barron had made me read it when I was thirteen, and I could only barely recall the plot of the novel. “Sure! Wasn’t it about the woman who leaves home to work in the city and her husband starts cheating on her?”

She looked perplexed. “No, this one is about a murdered child found in a well. Perhaps you’re thinking about _The Hills of Billborough.”_

“Oh,” I said, abashed, “Yes, I think that one was it.”

Brennoch closed the book and laid it on the coffee table in front of her. She turned to me, and her eyes were serious. More serious than usual. “Princess, I would like to ask you about something.”

“Of course you can marry my brother!”

“No, not that. Something else.” She leaned closer. “Princess… I read an article a few months ago. It said you met with journalists from _Revolutionary Times._ It said you agreed with what was going on, and wanted the monarchy out of power. Was what you said true?”

Dear lord. I had almost forgotten about that. “No! No, of course not! I would never agree with such a thing! For heaven’s sake, _I’m_ a princess! Where would _I_ go if they overthrew the monarchy?”

She withdrew a little, her brows drawn in a frown. She looked down at the book, then back at me. When she spoke, her voice was even quieter. “Princess, if you’re just saying this because you’re worried I would get you into trouble, don’t. You can tell me. You can trust me. Do you sympathize with the rebellion?”

I looked at her for a long time, her lips pursed, her dark eyes serious. I slowly shook my head. “No, Lady Brennoch. I never have, and never will.”

She was silent for a moment, then she nodded. “Very well. Thank you for telling me, Your Highness.”

She picked up her book again and began leafing through the pages, looking for her spot. I took this as an indication for me to leave. I stood up and walked toward the exit.

I was bothered by what had just happened. Had everybody read that article? Was it common knowledge that I sympathized with the rebellion?

…I needed some laudanum.


	12. Chapter 12

I lay on the bed, gasping. Kashlani was between my legs, rubbing herself against me. We were both slick to the thighs, wet slime covering our bedsheets, our bodies.

I loved the friction, every thrust she made crushing my clit against my body. I squirmed, my legs wrapped around her tan waist. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, a rapid fluttering like the beats of a dove’s wings. Her breath tickled my ear, harsh and fast.

The laudanum I’d taken earlier set the ends of my nerves on fire, and I felt as if I was making love on a cloud. My nails dug into the bedsheets, clawing fruitlessly as she thrust against me.

I was melting out of my body, the electricity sparking inside me whenever she brought her body forward. The folds of her body were molded to mine, and our wetness mingled as she rubbed herself into me. Heat was spreading to my brain, washing away my mind in a wave of pleasure.

“K-Kash-“

“Glau!”

She kissed me, her lips sealing possessively on mine. I gripped her head and pulled her forward. Our tongues entwined, and I greedily sucked up her saliva, feeling our most intimate parts connected. I was one with her. We were one being.

She climaxed with a cry. Her body was trembling, her feet clenched against the sheets as she thrust one last time, releasing in a spasm of rapture

With regret I felt her body peel away from me, collapsing on my cool bedsheets with a sigh of bliss. I wriggled, one hand still clamped around her breast. “Kasha, I still need you?”

“What do you need?” she propped her chin on her elbow, hungrily drinking in my body.

“I want you inside me,” I whimpered, squirming close to her. She laughed breathlessly. “You’re insatiable, Glau.”

She slid a finger in, the tip arching in the wet membrane. I felt myself began to tremble, a streak of heat making its way along my backbone.

“You like my fingers so much. Whenever I’m inside of you, you moan like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had. Glau, if you loved men instead of women, you would be the darling of the kingdom.”

I let a shaky laugh burst out of my throat. “But then where would you and I be, if I loved men?”

In the dim moonlight that bathed our bed, I saw her smile. But almost as soon as she did, the smile vanished.

Her fingers withdrew. I rubbed my legs together, disappointed. “Kashlani, why’d you stop?”

“I just…” she turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. I frowned and propped myself up on one elbow. “Tell me,” I said.

She turned back and grabbed my hand. “What’s going to happen?”

“You mean with the rebellion?”

“No, with us. You’re a princess, Glau. So am I. You’re going to have to get married sometime. And so will I.”

I let my head fall back. “Mother has never mentioned anything about that. I don’t think she cares so much about her children getting married. And, you know, you’re a royal hostage. You won’t have to worry about getting married for a long, long time.”

“But your mother has been pestering Ianthos to get married. She says he should have gotten married years ago, when he was still a teenager.”

“She said that?” I was stunned. I had heard nothing of the sort.

“Ianthos told me. Your mother says that only Bertrand has gotten married out of all her children, and she wants Ianthos to choose a spouse, or else she’ll choose one for him. And then she said…she said, ‘I’ll have to arrange a match with Glaucopis, too, sometime’”

I felt like my heart had been torn out and crushed. “No! That can’t be true!”

“That’s what she said.” Kashlani’s head was bowed and her shoulders were trembling. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her neck. “I promise, that will never happen. I will never leave you. Come… come hell or high water, you’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with. So if she ever tries anything like that, I’ll let her know what I think of it!”

I felt her grip tighten on my back. “You promise?”

“I promise!” I pulled myself away from her and gripped her face in my hands. “I promise on my heart, that whatever happens, you and I will never be separated! Never ever!”

***

The clock on my wall tick-tocked in a steady rhythm, the constant sound echoing through the room.

I took a step forward, onto the rug. In my mind’s eye I saw Kashlani and I, playing with marbles on the rug, the short, insecure young arrival and the brash girl who had hugged her and told her she would always be there.

My dressing table was empty and silent. There we were, a little older, putting on makeup, the powder getting all over ourselves as we laughed. Kashlani put up a hand to smudge a badly-applied line of eyeshadow, and I went silent, a smile tugging at my lips as she gently ran her finger around my eye.

I sat down on the bed. My body sank into the softness of the feather mattress. Now we were embracing, spending our first night together. We explored each other’s bodies, tentatively at first, but then bolder and bolder, until our moans echoed around the room.

I felt like crying and screaming and beating at the walls until I collapsed, but I didn’t do anything.

I couldn’t. My body didn’t work. All I could do was sit there and dream.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning we woke up, I tossed an arm over my eyes and yawned. Sun washed the room in bright warmth, streaming onto the bed and illuminating the two bodies curled underneath the sheets. I reached over to shake Kashlani awake. “Kasha, it’s morning. You want to get some breakfast?”

She turned over, pulling the covers over head. It took some cajoling and begging to finally wake her up. Finally her head popped up, hair mussed and eyes tired. I grinned and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of bed. We dressed quickly and entered the hall.

As we stepped out, we became aware that there was quite a hubbub going on. People were rushing all over the place, and as soon as we were spotted, a panicked-looking maid grabbed Kashlani’s hand. “There you are! We need to move quick, the train’s taking off in half an hour!”

“What?” she hung back, but the maid dragged her down the hall. I followed, concerned. “Hey, let her go! What’s going—“

“Princess, you’d better go back to your room,” the maid said over her shoulder. Kashlani snatched her arm out of her grasp. “What—hey! She’s my friend, she can come along if she wants!”

The maid shrugged. “Fine. But you have come immediately.”

Kashlani’s room came into sight. The door was open, and servants were moving furniture and boxes of possessions, carrying them out and down the hall.

“What are you doing?” screeched Kashlani. “Everyone get out of my room! Stop moving my stuff! Put it back!”

“Come on! There’s no time!” The maid grabbed her arm again and pulled her on.

“What’s happening? Where are we going?” I asked, fearful. I slipped my hand into Kashlani’s, and she squeezed it, and both of us were being tugged down the hall, our arms cartwheeling in unsteadiness.

We reached the door to the courtyard, and there was a shiny black car in the middle, being loaded with Kashlani’s possessions. A sense of foreboding erupted in my chest. “What’s—“

Kashlani stopped in her tracks. “What is going on.” Her voice was low, angry. She refused to move an inch, no matter how hard the maid tugged her.

The woman put her hands on her hips. “The request came early this morning! Rani Lalitha is taking you home!”

The whole world seemed to pause in place. The servants, the shouts, the commotion, all seemed to mute themselves.

I heard Kashlani’s voice, as if from a thousand leagues away. “What—I—Why? Why is she doing this?”

“The riots! They’ve destroyed Danderlenne street! The rebel army is coming into the capital!”

Danderlenne street! That was just outside of our palace! That was where most of the high-ranking nobles’ mansions were! I let out a wail of distress.

“Princess Kashlani, you need to board the vehicle.” The chauffeur was there, her hands behind her back.

“I will not! My friends are all here, Glaucopis—“

I threw my arms around her. “You can't take her away!"

"I'm a royal hostage!" shouted Kashlani, winding her arms around me. Her fingers gripped my back, digging into my flesh through the fabric of the dress. "You can't--"

"Not anymore," said the chauffeur, looking annoyed. She grabbed Kashlani's arm and began to drag her backward. "Rani Lalitha has issued a withdrawal of your status. You are a princess of the Bharatan court now."

My dress tore as Kashlani cluched me, her arm raking across the exposed flesh of my back as she was torn away from me. I reached for her, sobbing, but there was another pair of arms holding me back, pushing my arms down and keeping me in place.

"Your Highness, don't," said Gruoch.

"No! No!" I was crying, reaching for her, but she was being escorted into the car. I could hear her protests even as the door slammed behind her.

The car started up, and my heart plummeted. "Kashlani!" I screamed. _"Kashlani!"_

She looked out the back window, tears staining her cheeks. Her hand splayed on the glass as she stared at me, her eyes wide in shock.

I had stopped screaming and was just panting, my whole body shaking. I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we stared at each other for a few moments, and the car began to move, and she mouthed something--I didn't know what it was, I only just saw her mouth begin to move before she was driving away, away, through the gates into a swarm of guards on horses that trailed alongside her as she left through the gates and out of my life forever.

***

The laudanum that slid down my throat tasted like bitter memories. I remembered Kashlani making a face when she tasted it on my tongue; scolding me for going to the ladies' room during a party and taking a few swigs. Vivian taking a pinch of snuff out of her embroidered bag, watching in approval as I sipped laudanum beside her in the limousine.

I heard a knock at the door. "Your Highness?"

"Gruoch?" I turned around in bed to face the door.

The door swung open, revealing a black-suited figure. Gruoch looked scraggly, her normally neat suit unbuttoned and crumpled, and her usually pinned-up hair coming loose from its ponytail. Her eyes were drooping, and there were sores on the corners of her mouth. Her whole face was sallow in the lamplight, seeming more pale than the orangish cast it gave her.

I buried my face in the pillow, not wanting to see her after what happened today. I heard the door close, then footsteps coming over to the bed. I felt the mattress sink under her weight. "Your Highness, I'm sorry."

I didn't answer. I clutched the bottle of laudanum loosely in my hand, pressing it close to my heart.

"Glaucopis." she used my real name. "I truly loved Kashlani. She was my friend, as well."

"Why did she have to leave?" I burst out. "Why so suddenly and so--"

"Glau--"

"Why did they take her even though she didn’t want to go? Why couldn't they have taken me, as well?"

Her voice took on a more neutral tone. "Your mother wants all of her family to stay here. She doesn't think it befitting of a ruler to abandon their country in its time of need."

I took a peek upward, silent. She was looking across the room, not at me. Up close, the shadows under her eyes seemed more pronounced. "You... you don't agree, do you?" I said.

She shook her head. "It's not my place to say. But Glaucopis, Kashlani would have been in danger if she would have stayed here. She is a foreign princess--if the rebellion reaches the court and the royal family, she would have been the first to die."

I stared down at the blank whiteness of the pillow. "Gruoch..."

She gently laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Gruoch, what's going to happen to us?" my voice was very small. I felt like a child being comforted by her mother.

"Glaucopis..."

"They said it would be over soon. But the rebels took Dardalenne Street. They're coming closer and closer. No one can go out. We're trapped here."

"Glaucopis, don't worry." Gruoch's voice was soothing. "I promise whatever happens, nothing will happen to you."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I'm not. Nothing will happen to you, Glaucopis, because I won't let anything happen to you. I love you. I'd never let you get hurt."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "Gru.."

"Come here."

She grabbed me by my shoulders and hoisted me onto her lap. I was not as young as I used to be, and my feet dangled off, but she wrapped her arms around me and pressed my face into her shoulder. Her arms were as strong and warm as they had always been, and encircled me in her comforting embrace. For a moment, I was a child again, being held by her after stubbing my toe or being scratched by a rose thorn. She would always hug and comfort me and patiently bandage me up while I cried and screamed. As far back as I could remember she had always been there, protecting me, soothing me. I fisted my hands in the cloth of her dress shirt and closed my eyes.

"Thank you, Gruoch. I...I love you too. You were always there for me and Kashlani."

She stroked my hair slowly, her gloved fingers smoothing through the tangles. I caught her hand in mine and squeezed it. "I've been such a brat to you lately," I said. "Making you go with me to that riot meeting and everything... you saved my life back there. Not for the first time."

"And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

I felt tears prick in my eyes at her soft, comforting tone. "I don't deserve you."

"Don't say that."

"It's true! You're so wonderful and patient and strong! I wish... I wish..." Tears were squeezing out of my eyes now, soaking into the fabric of her shirt. "I wish you had been my mother. I love you more than my own mother!"

She was quiet for a moment, then squeezed me. "And I love you like my own child."

It took me a moment to realize she was crying, too.


	14. Interlude

The smoke rose into the sky, a pillar of gray billowing above the tall buildings. The burning mansions had all been looted, and determined they served no purpose other than that.

The cowardly nobles had fled, but they left most of their luxuries behind. Food and weapons were taken, everything else burned.

Schizl watched as rebels carried paintings out of the shells of houses, dumping them in a pile on the lawn. The top portrait was of a handsome man in breeches and a green frock coat, a white wig concealing his natural hair color. His hand, adorned with opal rings, was resting on a staff in front of him. He had a kindly, inviting smile on his face, the portrait painter managing, in a rare feat, to capture the emotions perfectly through paints and canvas. The painting was already bruised and peeling from the rough treatment, and as the flames licked up the rough canvas, the smiling face of the young nobleman blackened and charred. Soon it was no more than a pile of soot, only the burned remnants of the frame heralding the relic of a long-lost ancestor.

Schizl kicked a tarnished samovar out of the way with her boot. She had abandoned the frail, righteous peasant-woman persona she had affected in the early days of the rebellion. Now was the time for a strong leader. No more would she pretend to sob and lament the cruelties of the ruling class, on her knees with her hands clasped to her bosom. She was on her feet now, commanding, organizing, heralding the new age. 

She had thus switched her coarse peasant clothes for a smart uniform. It was dark green and fit nicely, the coat buttoned up to the neck and the pants tucked into the knee-high leather boots. Only a gold badge, a gleam of brightness on the drab colors, betrayed her position in the rebel army.

"Commander Kierviste!"

She looked back toward the mansion. A few rebels were dragging a young girl out the house. By her clothes it was clear she wasn't a maid or servant--she was wearing a silk nightgown, and a gold chain with a dark sapphire swung from her neck. Her bare shoulders were not tan but pale, the skin of someone who stayed inside all day frittering her time on gossip and luxuries.

"We found her hiding in the closet," panted one of the rebels, gripping her arm tightly as she struggled to get away.

"Don't hurt me," the girl begged, her face twisted in terror. Even so, she did not shed a tear. She was trembling so hard that if she were let go she would have undoubtedly fallen.

Schizl could feel everyone's eyes on her, prickling the back of her neck. She smiled. "Of course you won't be hurt, Miss...?"

"Madeyard. Aleaux Madeyard." Her voice was a squeak, no matter how level she tried to keep it.

The street had gone still, everyone's concentration squarely on the confrontation between the girl and the soldier.

Schizl's voice was gentle. "You have not harmed us in any way, Miss Madeyard. You will be taken to a safe place while your family is notified. Please, may I have a keepsake so your family will believe us?"

The girl hesitated, then with trembling fingers began to undo the clasp on her chain. She was shaking so hard it took two or three tries, but finally she managed to get it off and handed it to Schizl.

She jingled it in her glove, watching the sunlight reflect off the gold. "Thank you, Miss Madeyard. Soldiers, take her to the compound and give her some food."

As they marched her away, the street returned to its previous state, people diverting their attention and continuing with their looting now that the confrontation had passed. Schizl watched a priceless vase, painted beautifully with blue dragons that wound around its neck, smashed onto the cobblestones.

Of course, executing a helpless woman in broad daylight would have been an unspeakably cruel act that would lose her support. It would be better to show that she was a merciful and kind leader.

"Jeronime," she said to a rebel standing to attention near her, "Make sure the noblewoman is executed by tonight."

He gave a sharp nod. "Understood, Commander."

The blonde woman held the necklace up to the sun. The light shone through the dark jewel, illuminating threads of smoky gray in the dark blue.

"Wouldn't this look lovely on you, Princess Glaucopis?" she murmured to herself. And although she was smiling, her eyes had the cold cruelty of a snake cornering a mouse.


	15. Chapter 15

I don't remember much of when I met Gruoch for the first time. I was very young, and very frightened of the tall woman in black when she first appeared.

I ran when she approached me and cried when she tried to talk to me. I hid behind my old nanny and covered my eyes. Although my old nanny tried to coax me forward, I wouldn’t budge. I was afraid of this tall young woman who could crush me just by lifting me.

Around that time I had gotten too old for my nanny. My mother dismissed her, thinking that she would give me to my bodyguard instead and save on expenses. I had never hated her more in that moment, tearing me from the woman who raised me and giving me to a stranger who I was afraid of.

My old nanny pinched me and told me not to cry when she handed me to Gruoch at first. I beat on Gruoch’s shoulders and wailed for my old nanny. Gruoch stopped trying to shush me and put me down, and I ran behind a column, only my face peeping out to watch her warily.

Weeks passed, and I avoided her whenever possible. I sat far away from her at dinnertime, and ran away whenever she called me. When she was called in to help bathe or dress me, I screamed and raged until she left.

I missed my nanny. I wanted her back. I cried myself to sleep night after night, longing for her warm arms around me.

One day, I was in the gardens, having escaped from the servants to go wander by myself. I had made a promise to myself that I would climb this apple tree, one day, and that day I would pick the ripest apples on the top of the tree.

That day, I tried it. I gripped the rough bark with my soft thighs, clawing myself up the tree. I gripped a thin trunk with my hands, but it broke and sent me tumbling to the ground.

My determination dissolved into tears. ”Marina!” I wept, crying the name of my nanny. Marina had been closer to me than anyone. She was the woman who had wet-nursed me and raised me for my entire life. Marina was, in my mind, my mother, my only mother.

“Your Highness! Are you hurt?” I heard Gruoch’s loathsome voice, and I curled up into a ball. “No! Go away!”

I heard the footsteps stop, and for once, Gruoch retreated. She didn’t try to hold me in her arms, or coddle me, or talk to me in false tones, trying to comfort me. She stayed away, leaning against a tree as I cried.

“Do you want me to… to get you the nurse?”

“No,” I said. The nurse wouldn’t come. I knew it. She never came for me. For Sylviane, for Aspalis, for Ianthos and Rosendo, but never for me or Bertrand. Fifth son and sixth daughter. No more children needed.

I stayed by myself and cried for a while, my face pressed against my arms. She stayed away, and I stayed by myself, until my neck got stiff and my legs hurt, and then I hauled myself on my arms.

Gruoch was still standing by the trees, her arms folded and face tiled away. “Your Highness?”

I tried to get up, but it hurt too much. My left leg ached as if someone had taken it between their hands and snapped it. I tried to move I, but it hurt too much. I collapsed back on the ground. Crossed my legs and folded my arms.

“…Your Highness?”

“Stop talking!” I cried. I didn’t want her to be here. I wanted Marina. “Go away!”

But she didn’t go away.

She stayed there until I began to cry

It was dark by then. I wanted Marina. I wanted her to take me in her arms and gently scold me for hurting myself. I wanted her to kiss my boo-boos and tuck me into bed, like she had done for years, and years and years.

It was when the crickets began to sing that I struggled up. I took a tentative step forward, but my knees buckled and I ended up on the ground again. The dim light illuminated my pale spindly fingers as I tried to push myself up.

My leg hurt.

“Marina!” I cried.

“Glaucopis.”

It had been the first time she had called my name.

I began to cry harder,

“Marina!” I wept. “I’m hurting!”

“Glaucopis. Please. Let me. Let me comfort you.” She sounded so desperate. I saw her from the back, leaning against a tree. She was trembling slightly, every so slightly.

“Marina!” My voice echoed around the forest. The comforting trees that I had known since I was a baby had turned into tall, forbidding darkness, the trunks closing into me, the black branches reaching for me.

“Marina…” I whimpered. Mama!

I reached out my arms. I was scared and cold, and no one had searched for me. No one.

“Marina,” I said, my voice a whisper.

“Glau.” Her eyes were those of a mother.

“Gruoch!” the name burst from my lips.

And then I was in her arms.

***

“…Eighteen, nineteen, twenty!”

I giggled, buried beneath the mound of red and yellow leaves. I heard Gruoch shout the last of the numbers and begin to look for me. She would never find me here, I was certain of it. Prior to the game, I had been certain to gather all of the leaves in bundles all over the lawn. She wouldn’t know where to search first.

“Hmmmm… I wonder where the little princess is…” Gruoch wondered out loud, wandering across the lawn and nudging aside piles of leaves

I tried to muffle a giggle, which turned into a squeal when Gruoch’s hands closed around my ankle, pulling me out.

“How’d you find me so quick?” I asked, laughing as I plucked leaves from my hair.

“You’re wearing a blue dress, Your Highness. That’s something that tends to stick out, even if you are hiding in a pile of leaves.”

I pouted and kicked out. “That’s not fair! We have to play again!”

“All right. Just one more time, though, hear! Then we’re going inside to have lunch.”

I cheered, running off to hide as she hid her eyes and began counting. My eyes swept over the yard. She would expect that I would hide in another pile of leaves. I needed to trick her. I spotted the shed at the end of the lawn and grinned. I loved that the Summer Palace’s lawns were huge. They had so many places to hide.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting it securely after me. I took a look around—where could I hide? Under the coils of hose? Behind the rakes? Inside the—

 _“Don’t say a word,”_ hissed a voice in my ear. A calloused hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my cry of surprise. In the dim sunlight filtering through the cracked window, I saw the brown-capped figure of our gardener.

She was a woman who had been hired very recently. I had never liked her—sometimes when I was playing in the yard I would see her standing in the garden, not moving, just staring at me. She was a tall, sturdy woman, with a fleshy, jowly face and sallow skin. Her hair was the color of mud, brown curls pasted flat against her head. Her beady eyes fixed on mine.

Fear washed over me like ice water. My knees trembled. My legs began to move, but the cold edge of a knife pressed against my neck.

“Glau!” I heard Gruoch’s voice, far away. “I know where you’re hiding!”

I wanted to cry and scream for her, but at the same time I wanted her to stay away, because what if she came in and the gardener slit my throat? Tears streamed down my cheeks. My legs felt like sacks of wet plaster. The gardener tightened her grip and tugged me backward, her harsh fingers clutching my face so hard they bit into my skin.

I heard footsteps clomp near the shed. They stopped, and Gruoch called my name again. She was so close.

I didn’t know what to do. The knife was pressing against my throat so hard I could barely breathe. The gardener’s breaths were coming in raspy and fast. I heard the shoes move closer, and closer.

The doorknob twisted, and the door swung open.

The moment Gruoch saw me, her face went chalk-white. Her hand dove to her waist, where she wore her revolver.

“Touch the gun and her blood’ll fucking paint the floor,” hissed the gardener, sliding the edge of the knife across my skin. I felt a biting pain and, and warm blood trickled down my neck.

Gruoch looked at me, her black eyes wide and her jaw trembling. She carefully raised her hands above her head.

The gardener dragged me forward a step. My buckled shoes dragged against the wooden floor.

Gruoch was stiff, but I could see her limbs tense. The gardener edged past her, inch by inch, harsh breath in my ear.

Before I knew it, her arm had shot out, and Gruoch had seized the gardener’s arm. The gardener’s hand tensed, and the knife drew close to my throat, but Gruoch held her away from me, the tight muscles in her arm trembling.

Gruoch thrust her to the side, hurling me and the gardener away. The gardener hit the hit the ground, her knife jerking away from me and clattering on the floor.

The gardener’s arm was still wrapped loosely around me, but Gruoch pulled away from her, her comforting embrace enveloping me. I was safe. I grabbed her and cried, scared and relieved, my tears seeping into her suit.

The gardener snarled and stood up. She took a thick knife from her belt and held it at Gruoch. “You’d better back off!”

“I don’t think so.” Gruoch lashed out with a leg, and the gardener stumbled, her grip on the knife loosened, and Gruoch seized her wrists, twisting the weapons out of them.

The gardener hissed, twisting her hands. She writhed in Gruoch’s strong grasp, but my bodyguard didn’t let go of her.

The dark-haired woman tumbled her to the floor, throwing her onto the clean lawn of the Summer Palace. The gardener struggled, but Grouch’s grip was firm, and she shouted to me, “Get help! Right now!”

I began to run, looking for someone anyone. When I saw the cook, gathering herbs, I shouted, and his eyes got wide, and he ran inside, and soon everyone was out, stampeding over the lawn.

Shouts were heard, and guns were clutched, and I clutched Aspalis’s dress and pressed my face into her chest. I sobbed heavily.

She held me and comforted me, her blonde hair coming loose from her bun. When Gruoch began to trudge out from the forest, Aspalis led me away to my apartments, shushing my pleas for my bodyguard.

***

I learned later that the gardener had been executed. She had been plotting with a few other people to kidnap me from the palace and hold me for ransom. Gruoch had fought her, and foiled her plan. She and the other members of the gang were dead. There was nothing to fear anymore.

But I stayed awake in my vast bed, the smooth silk sheets wrinkling around me as I thrashed and cried. I only stopped weeping when Gruoch herself came to me.

She was bandaged, her hands and neck swathed in white fabric.

I wriggled up and flung myself at her,

“Gru!” I cried. I wrapped my hands around her neck and clung to her, my entire body wracked with relief. I was with Gru. She was safe. I felt like I was at the end of a happy dream.

She let out a strangled laugh, her arms coming to wrap around me. “Settle down, Your Highness.”

“I can’t!” I cried hysterically. “I was so sad! I was so sad that you would be—would be—“

“Sssssh,” she comforted me, holding my face to hers. I felt her pale cheek against mine, like a shard of porcelain.

“I was so worried you would be gone forever! I was so scared, and you were so—you were so brave—“

“It’s no matter now. I’ll always protect you, your Highness. Please believe me.”

Her voice had had an element of uncertainty now, of squeaky fright. For a moment, I felt like a grown-up. I separated from her and looked at her. Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders trembling. I reached out a hand and patted her.

“You’re happy, Gruoch. I’m safe and so are you. We’re all happy.”

She lifted her eyes, and something changed in her eyes, something I couldn’t identify or explain. Her eyes narrowed, and her arms wrapped around me. Her voice was shaky, but I could hear that she was firm.

“I know, Glau. I will always protect you, no matter what. I love… I love you.”


	16. Chapter 16

The palace was quiet.

It was always quiet lately.

Kashlani’s familiar presence, her arms wrapped around my waist, her warm cheek pressed against mine, was as distant to me as a long-lost memory. Whenever I woke up and stared at the ceiling, the lack of a body beside me made tears come to my eyes. I felt her loss as keenly as I would a sister or daughter, her absence a yawning, empty hole inside me, swallowing me up. Kashlani was gone. She was never coming back.

The maids had all left. When I dressed formally, I had to do it myself. It took me nearly an hour—I had never done it before. Fumbling with the buttons of the dresses, arranging the skirts, worrying if I had the dress inside out—it took so long, and even when I was done, I wasn’t sure if I had it on correctly. When I passed anyone, the nobles driven into the palace by the riots always gave me a token compliment and passed me by. I was worried and disappointed. Usually the maids would coo over me and flatter me, but no one anymore. No one.

Gruoch was gone all the time, except for the night. Then she sat by my bedside and stroked my forehead, singing soft lullabies. When she thought I was asleep, I could hear her cry.

I was in a laudanum-induced haze half the time. When I wasn’t, I worried and cried. Laudanum took all the bad feelings away. I could lie for hours on my bed, staring at the ceiling, drifting in a sea of indifference. Sometimes I imagined Kashlani was with me, holding me in her arms, whispering in my ear.

The palace was empty. I could wander through the kitchens, the library, without meeting anyone. When I saw my brothers they greeted me briefly. Then they kept walking, their eyes dark and worried. The remaining servants catered to me, but overtly so, their faces masked in fake smiles, asking if there was _anything, anything all I wanted?_

All I wanted was for things to go back to the way they were.

I was walking along the hallway in the palace. Normally, the maids would have steered away from my parents’ bedroom, but most of the servants were gone, and I could wander where I wanted now. I was seeing so many sides of the palace—the place where I had grown up—that I had never seen before. Secret doors and passageways, dumbwaiters and mirrors, that I had never seen, and they were all there, bare for me to play with.

I was dressed in red.

My earrings were rubies, my eyeshadow dark red, my dress the silken color of blood. I had no one to dress up for anymore. There were no more balls, no dances, no receptions. All the nobles holed up in the palace had better things to do than organize dances.

I swept down the halls, my heels echoing in the massive corridors. I wasn’t quite sure why I had decided to dress up. The laudanum had scrambled my brains, and I often found myself doing things I would never had done had I been sober. Once I came to and realized I had been drawing on the wallpaper in my room, something I hadn’t done since I was two. The pencil marks were still there, no one left to clean them up.

I hear a sharp cry from one of the doors to my left. When I looked at it closely, I recognized it as my mothers’ bedroom. I crept closer, putting my eyes to the crack of the door. I had never been allowed this close to my mothers quarters before, not since I was a small baby.

I saw a green room, tapestries on the walls, the canopied bed the color of dark emeralds. A woman in a white gown had her hands buried in her hands, her light brunette hair sweeping over her face. A man, his hair and beard disheveled, approached her cautiously.

He was speaking so lowly, I couldn’t hear his voice, but I saw my mother’s head shoot up. She held out her arms and her husband embraced her.

They stayed where they were, in the middle of the room, swaying softly. They were both trembling, both scared in different ways, but they were holding each other, sinking into each others’ bodies. Their love and whispers echoed around the room, and he stroked her hair. She gripped his chin and pulled him to face her. They kissed, pressing against each other.

I turned away from them. My hands were fists as I heard the moans start to echo behind me. I walked on and on.

Their love made my cheeks dust red. My parents making love was something I never wanted to witness. I crushed my ears and ran on.

I knew that they had an arranged marriage. But somehow, despite how different they were—Father was religious, Mother was devoted to her country over all else, including religion—they loved each other. I remembered some of the older maids giggling about how long they had spent in her bedroom when they first married. She had given birth to Sylviane almost exactly nine months later. Even after that, after the requisite heirs were conceived, they still laid with each other. I saw them at meals, Father sitting at Mother’s right hand side, subtly touching her, talking to her, and her with a smile on her face, talking and laughing with him as well.

Despite their circumstances, none of them had taken a lover. What had been a chance marriage had blossomed into love.

I ran and ran. I panted and heaved. My heels slipped on the carpet and I stumbled.

I burst into the courtyard, I heard the shouts of the rebels beyond the walls. Finally a servant spotted me and ushered me inside, my hanging my head behind.

The rosebushes were overgrown , the thick thorns overtaking the lawn. The clean borders had fallen apart, the vines creeping closer and closer.

The old gate was marred with cracks, dark rifts splitting the ancient wood. The iron lock was rusted over. It was an old bull falling over, wolves worrying at it with sharp and glinting fangs, and it was staggering, falling, dying.

The palace was so familiar, but dust was building up in the corners. Hinges creaked. Slowly, but surely, it was collapsing.

***

One day, when I managed to shake myself temporarily out of my haze of laudanum, I decided to wander listlessly towards the garden.

I sat among the overgrown tangles of flowers, my hands resting in my lap, listening to the echoed shouts beyond the wall. I had nothing else to do lately, no one to see, no games to play with anyone. I was about to get up and go back to my room for more laudanum when I saw a flash of black and white to the left.

I turned and caught a glimpse of Sister Maria Benedetta walking toward the palace. I crouched low in the bushes so that I was concealed and watched her enter through a side door that lead to the gardener’s quarters. I frowned. The gardener had left several months ago. Why would she need to enter his room?

Suspicion flared inside me. I waited until she was through the door, then stood up and began heading toward her. My heels slid on the grass—I wasn’t used to wearing them on the ground—so I kicked them off and ran toward the gardener’s quarters, my feet thudding on the wet ground.

I stopped in front of the door and pressed my ear against it to see if she was in the room. I heard nothing, so I gripped the handle and eased it open.

It was dark inside, the only light coming from the window. The room was still filled with Stazan’s old things—he had up and left in the middle of the night, leaving most of his belongings behind. His armchair was by the window, and the photographs of his families still adorned the walls. I stepped carefully on the wooden floor, trying not to make too much noise.

I heard a distant voice. Maria Benedetta. I walked forward, peering into the dark hallway in front of me. There was his bedroom, and a small sliver of light shone from under the door. I crept cautiously forward, hearing her voice get louder.

She was speaking in a different language--Latalienne. I scowled. She was talking slowly, her voice hushed, even though she could not have possibly thought she was being spied on—no one had been in here for months. I listened cautiously, trying to pick up words from her conversation. I wished I had paid more attention in Latalienne class! I caught a few—nothing, secret—baby?—I must have misheard that—but nothing telling me what the conversation was about.

I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward, pressing my ear to the door harder. Unfortunately, as I did so, the door began to swing inward, and I lost my balance, tumbling inward. The door banged open, and I sprawled on the ground.

Sister Maria Benedetta was sitting there, one hand clutching a phone receiver, the other balled in her lap. She was next to a bed with a full inch of dust on it, sitting on the chair next to the telephone. Her face registered fear, shock, then slowly, anger.

 _“Grazie. Arrivederci.”_ She finished the phone call and placed the receiver back on the hook. Then she slowly stood up. She was not a very tall woman, but the aura she gave off made me flinch. She looked twice as large and imposing as she usually did, her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes were dark and angry, and when she spoke, her voice was full of quiet fury.

“You can never seem to keep to yourself, can you?” she said, her tone dripping with rage.

I looked down at the floor and slowly stood up, brushing off my dress. I didn’t know what to say. I looked at her from underneath my lashes, and she stepped forward. I instinctively stepped back.

“What do you find so interesting about my personal life?” she queried, her voice still cold. “I know you aren’t here to… _seduce_ me. If you had wanted to, you would have come before now. So why—“

“I know what you’re doing!” I said loudly. This was it. I needed to confront her. Gruoch may have said that it would be better to gather more information first, but months had passed and nothing had happened—now was a good a time as any.

“You’re a spy!” I cried, putting my hands on my waist. “You’ve been passing information to the revolution!”

She stopped and looked at me. Her brow furrowed, and her expression slowly changed from anger to confusion. “What?”

“You heard me! Sneaking around, making strange phone calls, meeting in the dead of night with other suspicious clergymen—so is this a conspiracy, or is it just you two? Answer me!”

“What are you talking about?” she said, and her voice was so full of confusion that for a minute I actually began to doubt all the things I had suspected.

“Well, you are obviously a spy! Meeting with revolutionaries, passing information and thinking that because you’re a nun you’ll be above suspicion!“

She brushed past me, heading toward the door. “You are ridiculous,” she said her tone brusque. I stayed where I was, hands still perched self-righteously on my waist, before I snapped, turned around and ran after her. “Didn’t you hear what I was saying? You’re a spy! I’m going to—“

I stopped short. There was no sign of her. The door to the main palace was gaping open, and I could hear footsteps slowly receding into the distance.


	17. Chapter 17

When the end came, I wasn’t ready.

I had sat in the decaying palace for months, listening to the groans of collapse echo around me. I sat in my boudoir, without a lover or companion to advise me. The mirror reflected my face darkly, the shades on the windows drawn. 

Even makeup couldn’t hide the exhaustion I was feeling. I hadn’t been sleeping lately, save for when the laudanum was able to put me under. My face was face drawn and weary, and there were shadows under my eyes.

I stared at myself, at the carefully applied makeup. I wanted to be beautiful again. I wanted to whirl around balls in a fest of gaiety, dance with Kashlani all night. I wanted to ride horses again, feel the sun on my face. 

I heard a gunshot. I stood up, my head turned toward the door. It had been far away, but still too close. Gunshots just beyond the palace walls were commonplace, but this one…sounded as if it was in the courtyard.

And then came the screaming.

I breathed hard and fast, still staring at the door. I felt as if my body was paralyzed. A bottle of perfume had fallen on the ground, and the scented liquid was quickly soaking into the carpet.

Bangs. More gunshots. 

I was still standing there, disbelieving, when the blue-uniformed soldiers came rushing in. Shouting, tossing aside my chest of drawers, my wardrobe, grabbing, me with rough and indelicate hands.

I was dragged into the hallway and down to the reception hall to see my parents against the wall, their hands braced against the plaster as they surrendered. My mother was stiff, but my father was sobbing, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his sadness.

A sudden wave of pity came over me. I loved my father, no matter what he had done. I reached out, my hands stretched and ready to comfort him, but a blow to the back of my head made my mind spin. 

The beautiful ceiling was bright and vivid to me. The massive dome loomed above me, the white marble as bright as the sun. Perhaps it was the laudanum, but it seemed like I was in the kingdom of heaven, rising toward the white sky.

Nobles were being dragged out of their rooms and thrown into the main hall. I heard screams and shouts, and then—a crack. Gunfire. My eyes widened, and I pressed against the wall, shaking. 

Bootsteps echoed in my ears. I lifted my head, panting heavily, as a green-suited woman, a familiar woman, walked into the room.

She looked different from I had last seen her. She no longer had the billowing shirt and heavy skirt of a peasant woman. She was dressed as a man, with her hair hidden under her commander’s cap, her pants tight to the knee and her slender hands concealed with thick leather gloves. 

Her beautiful face showed no hint of emotion, but I could not miss the way her eyes danced with anticipation.

I knew the expression well. When I met a woman at a reception, she could giggle and be coy all she wanted, but I knew all she wanted was to get a chance to sleep with a royal princess. Her eyes betrayed her, skimming lasciviously down my body.

It was the same with Kierviste. But I was more scared than I had ever been with her.

She slowly began to walk around me, taking in my form. The hall was completely silent, save for the footsteps of the blonde woman. They echoed obscenely loud in the enormous hall.

“Well,” she smiled, the expression splitting her face into gentle warmth. “Princess Glaucopis de Vallerand. To think that we would be meeting like this.”

I didn’t say anything, clutching my hands around myself as she slowly walked around me. I heard her slow footsteps. I saw her, looking at me as if I was a brood mare. Taking in all the details of me.

My legs buckled, and I slid to the ground.

“It’s such an honor to meet you.” Her voice was deceptively gentle. Her face was turned to the side, the calm, peaceful smile still gracing her face.

I felt a sob coming to my throat, but I fought it down, still watching her warily.

Her smile widened. “Please, Gruoch MacDuff. Come here.”

It took me a long time to process her words.

Gruoch, my bodyguard, closer to me than my own mother, came out, her suit unruffled, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Thank you, Gruoch. Your help had been indispensable in our time of need.”

I looked at Gruoch. She didn’t meet my gaze.

“I am grateful that I was able to be of help.” Her voice was stiff, unreal.

“Gruoch,” my voice squeaked out.

Schizl’s hand grabbed my hair, yanking it painfully. “No words, princess. I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

Tears beading in my eyes, I stopped, looking at Gruoch. She still wouldn’t look at me.

“Your participation has been essential to the Revolution,” she continued. “Without the information you passed to us, we would have never have been able to win the war.”

It was her.

Not Maria Benedetta, but my own bodyguard, my… my… Gruoch.

Why would she not look at me?!

“Gruoch!” I screamed, but another blow to the back of my head silenced me.

“You have served us faithfully, MacDuff,” said Schizl. 

All the time.

“You will expect a promotion.”

Gruoch left without looking at me.

It was then I began to cry.


	18. Interlude 2

"Have this moved to my room," said Schizl, standing up from the red velvet armchair. She appreciatively skimmed her hand along the soft gold-embroidered arm.

"As you wish, commander. Anything else?"

She cast her gaze over the opulent stained-glass windows, the glimmering tea sets on polished silver platters, the polished rosewood tables. "No. Do what you will with the rest of it."

As she exited the room, she saw rebels--forgive her, the new government--begin to pull cartfuls of opulent goods out of the rooms. She noted with satisfaction that the royal seals were thrown haphazardly on top of some silk curtains, tossed away just like another one of the ruling despot's useless playthings.

"The Hall of Portraits," said the soldier leading her.

Schizl and she stepped into a yawning corridor, lined with rich red wallpaper and a burgundy rug. Portraits--some as tall as six feet--lined it as far as the eye could see.

It was fascinating, walking through the rows of paintings, seeing a nose here, a pair of eyes the exact same shade as Princess Glaucopis. An ancestress, Queen Araphis the Fifth, was a picture perfect image of her. It was amazing. The eyes, the color of sea brass. The hair, the soft chestnut color of trees in the sunlight. The heart shape of her face. The soft curve of her hip, and the swell of her bosom against the delicate lace of her dress. It was as if it were a mirror image.

Cynically, Schizl could attribute this to inbreeding. But the young queen’s face was too alluring, her eyes too bewitching, that Schizl could not resist the shape, the seductiveness of her posture. “Have this moved to my room, as well,” she said, and her subordinate bowed. “It will be as you say, commander.”

The rest of the paintings held no interest for her. Just figureheads, primped and preened with curled wigs, ultimately disposable. She turned and began walking back towards the exit, tossing her hand at the soldier with an offhand “burn them”.

Until the last portrait caught her interest.

It was of the current royal family. It had been halfway concealed by the door, which was why she hadn’t noticed it before. The mother, Ystele, was in the middle. She was an older woman, her chin beginning to sag and her eyes beginning to wrinkle, despite the layers of powder and makeup she buried herself under. When Schizl met her in the hallway for the first time, that had become clearer than ever, with the Queen’s aging body clearly betrayed by her thin nightgown. In all the pictures Schizl had seen of her, she seemed calculating, peering, never smiling.

But in this picture, she was radiant. It was taken almost a decade ago, when the queen was in her prime. But there she was, regal, beautiful in her joy, sitting among her children like a goddess in front of her worshippers. The King, that scrawny foreigner with the ragged beard, was nowhere in sight. It was nice to know that the despot queen had some dignity and respect for her country.

Schizl recognized most of the children. There was the oldest daughter, Sylviane, her brown hair scraped into a proper bun at the back of her head. She wasn’t smiling, and looked quite stern, with one hand resting loosely on her mother’s forearm. Although a young woman, lines were starting on the edges of her temples, and indeed she looked older than her own mother sitting beside her.

The other daughter, the one surrendered to the Bharatan’s courts, wasn’t there. A pity. The young blonde thing had been an attractive tart in her youth, and might have served to be the next mother of the puppet king. No matter, Glaucopis could serve that purpose if the need arose.

The son, Rose something? The priest. As stern as his mother and sister. His execution would be the first, a relatively unimportant son to whet the appetites of the crowd. The other son Ianthos, the older one, had light brown hair and an impish smile, the beaming expression and oddity among the sober faces of his family. And the youngest son, his face expressionless. She was surprised that he was even included. An entirely forgettable one was he. No scandals followed him like Glaucopis, no whispered gossip. All he had done was marry and go overseas, dutifully providing heirs for his foreign wife.

And there she was herself. Glaucopis. The last princess. The one who flaunted herself, made love without discretion, the one whose scandalous affairs made headlines blaze across newspapers.

She was so young. So innocent, back then. Just a young girl. She was encrusted with bracelets, rings and necklaces. Her dress was light purple, and looked nice against her tan skin. Her hair was done up, unusual for the princess, whose hair, which she usually let flow down her back

_Her hair spilled over the grass behind her. The princess lay down, her legs spread, the flickering light of the projector illuminating her long, slender legs. The red-haired woman was between them, nuzzling her thighs, gasping as her long tongue_

was instead tightly wound in corkscrew braids.

She was looking with an expression of impatience up at the painter, her light blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Her hands were folded in her lap, her legs tucked beneath her. Schizl was used to seeing her running around in pictures and photo reels, her hair loose, her legs bare. But she seemed constrained in the portrait, a feeling of barely contained frustration leaping out at Schizl. She marveled at how the painter managed to capture her emotions so perfectly. Perhaps she would have him paint the next portrait of her, Schizl Kierviste, the new commander of the country.


	19. Chapter 19

I was in a dark room. A single candle lit the darkness, orange light flickering over the bare furnishings. It was just a table, chair and a rough pallet where I could sleep. The walls were dark wood, bare of wallpaper or paintings.

I was in the dress I had put on, green and loose around my bosom.

The door creaked open.

Schizl Kierviste stood there, strong and stiff, her eyes taking in every detail of my appearance.

I lay there, on the rough cot, my form trembling.

“How are you finding your surroundings?”

“Hard and rough.” I tried to make my voice sound apathetic, but I failed. By tone was high and shrill, afraid.

“What a shame.” Her voice was calm, but had a hint of hardess underneath. “This is how we felt, you know. When you laid in feather beds, we laid in straw pallets.”

I said nothing, watching her with wary eyes. She smiled and took a seat at the table, folding her hands under her chin. The candlelight reflected off her eyes, green as leaves and shining bright with misplaced mirth.

"Where is my family?" I burst out. "Where did you--"

"Hush, hush." she waved her hand around in a dismissive motion. "Be obedient and answer my questions first." She straightened up and took her hands from beneath her chin. Eyes still locked on me, she dove into pocket of her green coat and brought out a closed fist.

"Princess Glaucopis," She said, and her voice was a bit more gentle this time. "Do you recognize this?"

Kierviste slowly opened her hand. Twinkling in the middle of her palm was a rusted gold brooch. It was in the shape of a leaf, the edges outlined with green gems, although a few of the gemstones had fallen out, leaving empty sockets. The bright metal had tarnished and the stem of the leaf had been broken off. It looked as if it had been beautiful once, but now needed serious repair.

I shook my head.

"What? You don't know what this is?"

"No, I don't. I've never seen it before."

She was silent for a second, then said, "I see."

The tone of her voice had dropped several octaves, becoming more similiar to the low, serious voice I had heard back when she had saved me at the riots. My heart rose to my throat. I wondered if she recognized me. Had that been a test? Had she been wearing a brooch back then, and I simply hadn't noticed?

Kierviste's eyes betrayed nothing. They were as glassy and expressionless as a resting cobra.

“You’re dressed very nicely,” she noted suddenly. “Waiting for someone, perhaps? A lover?”

“No,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I only have Kashlani.”

At the mention of her, her eyes turned from blankness to cold, hard disgust. “Ah,” she said, standing up. “Yes. The foreign bitch.”

“Don’t you dare call—“ I snarled, but searing pain snapped across my face when she brought her hand forward.

“I wasn’t finished talking. Don’t talk when others are talking, didn’t they teach you in etiquette class?” Kierviste grabbed my hair, winding it around her hand, and jerked my face forward. She forced my head up to meet her gaze.

“You and your kind have spent centuries treading on us. Centuries gathering the benefits of our labor. Centuries accepting filthy foreigners as your own family.”

Her voice was a low hiss.

“It’s time you reaped what you sowed.”

She shoved me onto the bed. I could hardly understand what was going on before she was unbuckling her belt and slipping it between the slats of the bedstead. She tightened my outstretched arms, the leather sinking tightly into the soft flesh of my wrists.

My body rioted, writhing and struggling beneath her, but she was strong, and she pinned my down, legs on either side of my waist, as she tore my front open.

Buttons flew as my breasts were revealed. I screamed, twisting my torso, but her hands wrapped around my breasts anyway.

“So beautiful,” she purred. “How many women have held you like this? How many have sucked and fondled your breasts?”

She punctuated her words with a harsh squeeze, her fingernails digging deep into my flesh.  
She knelt her head and bit my nipple, hard. I cried out in pain.

“What’s the matter?” she mocked, moving lower. “Have none of your lovers been this rough with you?”

I shook my head, my shoulders trembling and another scream in my throat. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend this wasn't happening, but somehow, my eyes didn't move, and my gaze was fixed on her as she bore down, forcing my legs apart.

“I saw that film with you and that actress," she said.

She lifted her head, and I saw bloodshot madness in her eyes.

“You were naked to all the world. Naked for anyone to pleasure themselves to.”

Kierviste pressed her head between my legs, consuming me with one long lick.

She was an expert, her tongue digging into the depths of me, nibbling and thrusting her tongue when she needed to, making shaky pleasure overcome my spine. Then she licked lightly around the outer lips of my labia, carefully tracing her tongue over my swollen lips.

“You made love with that other woman, as shameless as a prostitute," she hissed against me. "What princess of a country has so little respect for her country that she bares her body for anyone to see?”

She lavished attention on my clit, licking and sucking. I clamped my mouth shut. I didn’t want to take any pleasure from this act. She was forcing me.

She was raping me.

As soon as the revelation came over me I opened my mouth in a shrill wail. She bit down on my clitoris, making a sharp lance of pain stab my belly. “Be quiet. You have no right to protest.”

She pulled herself up, her silhouette, her slender waist and sturdy uniform outlined by the flickering orange light. Her face was eager, hungry, like a wolf stalking a sheep, or

_a snake cornering a mouse_

She didn’t take her clothes off.

All she did was pull her pants down so that she could rub against me. Her large shirt draped over waist, shielding her bottom half from my gaze. She rubbed against me brutally, her hot nub pressing against mine, grazing me in a heated marriage of pain and pleasure.

I squeezed my eyes shut

“You,” she gasped, “Are beautiful.”


	20. Chapter 20

When I awoke, the lantern was still burning, and my wrists were unbound. I moved my legs, and uncomfortable wetness slicked my thighs.

I sat up slowly, leaning my back against the wooden wall. I didn't want to look down at myself, I didn't want to acknowledge what happened. But I did.

My breasts were a mass of red streaks, bruises, and dried saliva. Bitemarks caged my raw, pink nipples. When I sat up, my chest ached, the red streaks burning across my skin like tunnels of fire.

I felt a creeping cobweb of violation begin to spread over my skin. Inside and out, I was raked bare, clawed into a mass of hurt and humiliation. My body, which I had always given freely to whoever I chose, was forced by a woman who neither cared for nor understood me.

My dress was gone. A hoarse sob burst out of my mouth. My beautiful clothes, taken away. My mother, taken away. My dear bodyguard—

I stopped myself again. I would not think of her. I would not think of her.

The door to the room jiggled, and creaked inward. I stiffened, expecting Schizl, but who came through the door was a familiar black-habited, robed figure.

“Maria Benedetta!” I cried, sitting up—only to be forced down again by the heavy, piercing pain between my legs.

She entered carefully, not meeting my gaze. She had what looked like a sack in her hands. She laid it over the bed and finally looked up at me.

The instant they met my naked body, they narrowed and averted. I shivered at the disgust in her gaze.

What was laid on my bed was a formless brown thing that looked as it had been made from a sack. I unfolded it and held it up. It was a dress, with a billowing waist and a sagging bodice. It was a peasant dress. The sleeves had been torn off at the shoulder, strings dangling from the place they had been ripped from.

I slid it on. It was rough cotton, and it scratched my sensitive body, dragged across my nipples, and I winced and smoothed it out, then let myself collapse back.

“Why are you still here?” I demanded.

"Commander Kierviste has offered me a job in the new regime," she said primly, walking over to the table and beginning to unload apples onto it.

"I suppose after working with them all this time, they would have to reward you somehow."

She didn't say anything. I ground my teeth, furious that she would ignore me. I knew she didn't think much of me. Now that she was in a position of power over me, who could tell how she would act from now on?

"How much did they pay you to sell out my family?" I said, and she turned halfway to meet my gaze, her eyes impassive behind her glasses.

"You're deluding yourself."

"Don't lie to me. You can deny it all you want, but your phone calls, your secret meetings with revolutionaries... I bet you were working with... with Gruoch all along!"

"Glaucopis." Maria Benedetta's voice was hard and final. "Listen to me. I have never sold out your family. I was assigned here by my Mother Superior, and I was counting the days until I could leave. I don't care about you. I don't care about your family. You are all debauched sycophants doomed to hell. But I didn't sell you out. Your _bodyguard_ did all that."

"But you--"

"All those phone calls? Those _clandestine meetings?_ One of my old friends from the nunnery had gotten pregnant. I was trying to help her."

"You were seen, you were seen, with revolutionaries!" I babbled, trying desperately to hold on to my slipping beliefs. Everything I had known, everything I had suspected about her, it couldn't have all been a lie.

I would expect her to be furious, angry at me for even suspecting her. But instead she seemed almost... pitying?

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I had never met with revolutionaries, or anyone loyal to that particular movement.”

The words hit me, and everything made sense.

I had believed nothing right. I had followed Grouch’s word, and she had lied to me. She had diverted me from the truth, steered me away from the licentious deception that was her life.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. She regarded me, her face hard, but strangely merciful.

“You have nothing to apologize to me for now.”

***

Kashlani ran towards her mother’s room, lifting up her sari so she wouldn’t trip over it. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her footsteps thudded down the empty hallway. It had been so long since she had been home. The magnificent gold-gilded palace was dazzling in its magnificence, the marbled walls shining and encrusted with decorations. But now was not the time to admire them.

Kashlani was wrapped up in her so worries, she did not notice the approaching footsteps, and she collided with the blonde woman coming around the corner.

As Kashlani regained her balance, the other woman put her hand—dripping with gold bracelets—on the wall for balance. “Kashlani?” said Aspalis, tucking a strand of light hair behind her ear. Her eyes were wide and scared, but her voice betrayed no emotion. Aspalis had never been a very emotional person. Warm and kind, yes, but subdued, as if she were reluctant to share her true feelings.

“Is Mother in her office?” asked Kashlani, the words of her native language tripping off her tongue. It had been so long since she had spoken Bharatan.

“Yes, she is. I just came back from a meeting with her.” Aspalis lowered her head, her voice becoming quieter.

“What did she say?”

“I-I must leave. Dhruva is expecting me.” She ran on, and Kashlani gritted her teeth as she watched the woman disappear into the distance. It wouldn’t hurt for her to share some of her feelings with her, especially as they both were worried about the Rhosgallish royal family. But Aspalis had been keeping Kashlani at an arm’s length ever since the former royal hostage had arrived back home.

Shaking her head, Kashlani began running again, not stopping until she arrived at the door. She took a deep breath, smoothed back her hair, and knocked on the door with trembling hands.

After a moment, her mother called, “Who is it?”

“Your daughter, Kashlani.”

“Come in, daughter.”

Rani Lalitha was writing something on a typewriter, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She did not look up when Kashlani entered. “What brings you here?”

“I…I want to talk to you about Glaucopis.”

“What about her?” her voice was indifferent.

Kashlani could barely keep herself from trembling with anger. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about! The revolution! You know the palace has fallen and the royal family is being held hostage!”

Kashlani had to calm the swell of terror that rose inside her breast. She didn’t want to imagine her most loved one, Glaucopis, being beaten, tortured, put up against a wall and shot. It couldn’t happen.

_Glau!_

“Kashlani, I can’t help them.” Lalitha’s tone didn’t change a bit. She shuffled a few papers and moved them into a drawer.

“Yes, you can! We’re allies with Rhosgalle! We’re obli—obligated to help them if—“

“Obligated to help them if there’s an invasion. I don’t think that it counts as an invasion when it comes from within. They are not being invaded. There is a revolution. There is a difference.”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about!” Kashlani slammed her hands down on the desk. Tears were dripping from her eyes.

Lalitha regarded her sympathetically. Her mother looked different from when Kashlani had last seen her. Her night-black hair was graying around her temples, and she had grown heavier, slightly but noticeably. She was so different from the beautiful ruler that Kashlani had parted from all those years ago.

“My daughter. I respect and am loyal to the Rhosgallish royal family. They have been invaluable allies to us. But we are dealing with out own tensions, with the Sultana Arabah to the east. We have to stockpile our supplies, build up our forces if she decided to attack.”

“You’re making excuses…” Kashlani sobbed, her shoulders trembling.

Lalitha leaned forward, her long fingers threading through her daughter’s hair. “Kashlani. I know you love Glaucopis. There is a very special love that exists between friends, between lovers—I know how you feel. I know from the deepest depths of my soul.”

Lalitha’s voice was still calm. “I loved another woman very much. We were… very close to each other. But I was the next Rani. We had to separate. It’s the same with you. Sometimes we have to let people go. Because it’s best for us.”

“Glaucopis could die,” Kashlani cried,

Lalitha’s hand captured hers. “I know, Kashlani. But we live in this world, and there are some things we can’t change.”

Kashlani longed to feel her lovers’ arms around her, stroking her hair, comforting her. She wanted to ride on horseback through the orchards again, smiling at her. She wanted to hold her in her arms and keep her safe.

“Mother, I—“

“Kashlani. You need to go.”

Her mother’s words were final, and she pushed Kashlani forward, towards the door. The girl walked with shaky legs out of the room, and when the door snapped closed behind her, she sunk with her back to the wall and wept.


	21. Chapter 21

I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling. I traced every crack and crevice in the old wood, memorizing them, burning them into my memory.

I felt fiery pain streak across my face. Schizl stood above me, her hand outstretched.

“You aren’t paying attention, Princess. I want you to feel every minute of this. Spread your legs farther. Pant like a whore.”

I wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. I kept my jaws shut tightly, squeezing my eyes shut as she rubbed and gasped between my thighs.

I was wet, my clit stiff between my soft pink folds. I drew my legs up, trying to force her away, but she batted them aside as easily as they had been a injured lamb. She knelt between my thighs and gave me a long lick, stimulating me from one end to another, slicing through the pink mucus with her sharp tongue and stimulating my quivering clit with the tip of her tongue.

My back arched. My eyes closed, a feverish heat coming over my body. The pure pleasure that penetrated me was too much to bear.

Her white, slender fingers wrapped around my breasts, pulling them, pinching them. Starbursts of pain erupted on the tip of my breasts, and I brought my arms up slowly, sluggishly to defend them.

My head ached. I was shivering. Slightly, but noticeably, I felt my body begin to prick at me, protesting at the lack of stimulation. The familiar bottle of laudanum was not at my side.

How long had it been? I could not tell the passage of time, with no clock, and my cell cut off from the passage of day and night.

She had her hair done up, her coat still tightly buttoned over her breasts. She never undressed more than she needed to. But I was forced to show of all of my skin, to take humiliating poses with my wrists bound. But I would never pleasure her if I could help it. I would bite off her clitoris if she ever forced me to try.

“You’re not paying attention, Princess.”

Her voice was low, angry. I felt an involuntary shudder come over me.

She got off me. I felt her warm cunt leave mine, and mine became cold at the sudden air that swamped it. I wriggled, tied on my back with my hands above me. I heard her walk over to her discarded pants, and draw something from it.

I bit back a snort. Was it a thick object in which to penetrate me? I could handle that. My lovers and I had had much fun with such things.

I suddenly felt cold metal at my opening. The sudden terror that swamped me made me arch my back, and a scream built up in my throat.

“Do something simple for me, Princess.” Her voice was a low murmur. I felt the cold barrel push past my lower lips, penetrating deep inside.

Tears beaded in my eyes.

“Say, ‘Fuck me, Schizl,’ and I’ll take it out.”

“No.” I quelled the rising fear inside me, glared up at her with defiant eyes.

She pushed it farther and farther, so deep it was up to the trigger. I felt myself stretched painfully wide as the metal forced itself deeper and deeper.

“I’ll pull the trigger.”

“No, you won’t,” I hissed. “You’re not…not that impulsive.”

She pushed it deeper until I felt it scrape the opening to my womb. The pain was so great I screamed, struggling to free myself from the searing agony. I screamed so loudly my throat ran ragged, and I erupted in a fit of coughing.

“Whore.” The word was said with such venom that I was frightened as to what she would attempt next , but instead she slowly drew the gun from my pussy. The metal sliding away from my pink skin made me roil with disgust, but as she finally revealed the gun, I saw that the tip was covered in my slimy juices.

She drew herself up and walked over to the rest of her clothes. She dressed herself silently and left.

I let myself go limp, laying with my legs apart on the filthy mattress. Tears were streaking down my cheeks. I felt the darkness surround me, wreathing me with its filthy grasp.

Were things ever going to get better? Would I ever see Kashlani, or my parents again?

I didn’t know the answer, and that frightened me.

***

“Come with me,” said Schizl. “Come and see the trial of your parents.”

I stared her, suspicious, my legs drawn up to my waist. She was unchacteristically gentle, offering me something I could only beg for.

I wanted to know what happened to my parents. I sat up and pulled on the dress lying at my feet, but I didn’t take her hand

Against my will, out of worry for my parents, I stood up and followed her out. She led me up and out of her home.

We were in the palace. The walls were stripped bare of the portraits of my ancestors, just shining white marble. She led me, snorting when I stumbled. I tried to keep up. I followed her to the conference room.

It had been refurbished. The table was covered with a plain white tablecloth. The paintings were gone the walls. People I didn’t recognize lined the table, stiff-suited and stern, just like the duchesses and dukes I had sat before when the monarchy had been in place.

We were in the balcony above, shoving me back. “Let the court begin,” she said, quietly.

At her tone the table opened up, people standing and voicing their complaints. My mother stood dispassionedly, beside her husband and children. I couldn’t see close enough to tell how she felt.

“Your charges are brought against you. Deliberately starving, abusing, and forcing your people to participating in war,” said the judge, a short man with a strong voice. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” said my mother,

“Explain.”

“I have raised an army for my people. I wanted us to be victorious in battle.”

“You have killed tens of thousands of our citizens. Tens of thousands of people who had families. What does victory in battle mean when your own people's families has been killed, ground to dust?”

“It’s our duty as a country to care for our allies. When they put an usurper on the throne, we had a responsibility to the true royal family—“

“What does responsibility mean when _people are dying?"_

My mother stood very still. Her husband took her hand, but a guard hissed at him and he dropped it.

"A queen," she said. "Has different duties than her people."

"In what way?"

"She must give up all sense of personal...fulfillment for the betterment of her country."

"Have you not had a better life than most people? A happy marriage and loyal children?"

She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was the exact tenor as before. I could detect an undertone of strain, though, a cord of weakness I had never heard before. "Most of my children are gone. I have never had the joy of nursing or raising my chldren as commoner women have. First they went to nursemaids, then to other countries. My oldest daughter and heir is fighting on your behalf thousands of miles away."

"Currently she is being brought back to stand trial."

"What?" My mother's voice twanged sharp. "Sylviane?"

Suddenly, I felt a tremor come over me. Sweat dampened my brow. A lingering chill swept beneath my skin, and I rubbed my arms, trying to push it away.

"When will she be here?"

"In a few days. She will stand trial separately from you for crimes against her army."

"My daughter has done nothing. She has served her army faithfully and never abused--"

"She has made numerous innacurate decisions regarding battle tactics and strategies, resulting in the loss of hundreds of lives. She has withheld medicine and supplies from her troops."

"War is war. Sometimes choices must be made that benefit the whole and not the part. Without the weapons bought, more losses were to be had and more people would have died."

Heat burned my head. I felt like my brain was in a furnace. I grabbed the balcony, trying to steady myself.

I felt Schizl's steadying hand on my waist, and jerked out of her grasp. I looked back at her. She was silhouetted against the lamplight like an angel, her blonde hair like a halo around her head. The light shone through each filament of her hair, illuminating them like lit matches.

I heard my mother's voice distantly, as if through a thick glass window. "...am not responsible for the mistakes of my people. If they choose to grow crops that--"

Hot and cold. Hot and cold. My gaze swam.

"...famine and starvation. If I chose to enact stronger agricultural laws--"

My world spun and tipped over. I sunk onto the ground, pressing my forehead onto the cold marble. I tore at my dress, the heat overwhelming me, burning me up from the inside. My mother's voice echoed inside my head, resounding against the walls of my mind. A cool hand closed over my wrist and yanked me up.

I was vaguely aware of myself being pulled out of the room and down the hallway. My mother's voice faded behind me as I stumbled onto the carpet, and Schizl's grip tightened on my arm as she led me through the palace.


	22. Chapter 22

Schizl watched the Princess shiver and mutter on the bed.

Her form twisted and turned, wrapped herself in the sheets, her voluptuous body shivering and contorted. Her beautiful plump waist twisted, writhing in the pale sheets, her legs kicking them off.

Withdrawals were hard to deal with. Especially for someone who had, according to resources, been medicated since she was three years old.

Schizl rested her chin on her hands. “Princess?”

A muffled moan answered her.

“Would you like a bottle of laudanum?”

At this the princess fell silent. She slowly lifted her head from her next of blankets, her eyes red-rimmed and her entire form shaking.

Her eyes narrowed in hate, but still she ground out, “Yes.”

“Well, you can have all the laudanum we have here in the palace. All of it. For one thing…”

Schizl stood up and stepped closer to her bed. She smoothed the tangled hair out of the Princess’s red face, and stroked her cheek. “All you have to do is pleasure me. Get between my legs and lick me so hard I’ll forget who I am. Get on top of me and grind against me like I do to you. Worship my body.”

“No!” Glaucopis hissed, and behind the film of drugged-up apathy on her eyes she saw a spark. The Princess’s hands fisted in the blankets. “I will never degrade myself for you!”

Schizl sighed melodramatically. “Well, I suppose you really don’t want that laudanum then, do you?”

The Princess paused, the spark in her eyes flickering. Her jaw tightened and she looked away. “N-No…”

Schizl knew that her resolve was crumbling. She fought back a smile. Just a few more weeks and the Princess would be moaning like a whore with her head buried between Schizl’s legs.

“Well then, Princess, I’ll take my leave.” The blonde woman took her coat and slowly stood up, casting one last glance over Glaucopis’s voluptuous form. She walked to the door, slowly, giving her time to change her mind.

But she never did.

***

The candle burned bright, a beacon in the overwhelming darkness. My breaths came in pants, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I ached. I ached so bad. Each solitary muscle seemed to be trying to destroy itself from within, every move that I made making hurt tear through my body. I let out a garbled sob. I pressed the pillow into my face, my body wracked with spasms.

My body was burning, begging for another hit, but I forced myself to ignore it. I had to. If the alternative was…

I would never! I would never pleasure that woman! Not the woman who had my family on trial, and was probably going to—

I stopped myself short. Don’t think of it. Don’t think of it. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—

The door creaked open.

I shot up. I hadn’t even heard any footsteps approaching. I was on guard, preparing for another mind game with Schizl, but instead who walked the door was…

I looked up at the face of my former bodyguard, the maestro of my woes.

She stood there, her shoulders straight, her face impassive. But as soon as she met my eyes, she cracked.

“Oh… Princess!”

She hurried forward, her arms wide to take me in an embrace. I recoiled and fought her away. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you EVER touch me!”

She withdrew, her eyes filled with confusion. “Princess, I—“

“Don’t say another word. Not another _fucking word.”_

She slowly took a step backwards, still wavering as if she still wanted to take me into her arms.

I sat back, breathing heavily, and studied her for the first time since…since…

That day. A few weeks ago. Or was it months? I couldn’t tell.

She was gaunt-looking—even more so than she had been before. The circles underneath her eyes had turned to bags, her hair was loose and tangled. Her suit was in disarray, as if she hadn’t changed it in several days. The pallor of her skin was pronounced, even more so with her stringy black hair falling loose to her elbows. Strands of it stuck to her forehead, the black lines like swollen veins.

“Get out of here,” I said.

“Princess,” said Gruoch, her voice hoarse. “You look terrible. Are you feeling all right?”

I ran an arm across my dripping nose. “Get out.”

Infuriatingly, she ignored my orders. She carefully approached me and sat down on the edge of my cot. I scooted backwards, not willing to be anywhere near her.

“Princess,” she said gently but firmly, “I want to explain something—“

“Explain? What do you have to explain?” I hissed. “You betrayed me, you betrayed my family, you betrayed your country, and now you’re reaping the benefits. What did Kierviste offer you, huh? A new position in her _glorious_ army? Are you _her_ bodyguard now? Are—“

“I never wanted to betray you.” Gruoch’s voice was trembling. “I never… I never did it for anyone but you.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Nothing she was saying was making sense. Did it for me? How could anything that happened have possibly been for my own benefit?

Gruoch let her head hang so her hair covered her face. “When her people approached me, they told me I could be wealthier beyond my wildest dreams if I joined them. That I could be the governor of a province, that I could have a role in the new government of the people. I turned them down. But things got worse, Princess. Our war was still going on, people were rioting…and I knew… I just knew the royal family was going to fall. I had been in the city, in the countryside, I saw how things were crumbling. The people were starving and angry. They would not stand to let you live. So when Schizl Kierviste herself came to me…”

My heart was in my throat. For a second, all my pains and aches, my tears and fury, everything was forgotten. When I spoke, my voice was slow. “So you mean...”

“Schizl told me… that if I passed her information, when the palace fell, she would spare you.”

With those last words, Gruoch fell silent.

The room was quiet for a long time.

I buried my face in my hands. I heard the bed creak as Gruoch leaned toward me, but I jerked away from her. “Don’t.”

She settled back into her sitting position. I began to shake, trying desperately to keep the tears from flowing. “Why? Why did you do it? Why me, but not the rest of my family? And do you—do you even _realize_ what it’s going to be like living here, living now, under Kierviste’s thumb? I would rather be dead!” My last words came out as a scream, and I started to sob, not able to hold the tears back any longer.

“Princess, I love your family. Ianthos is a dear friend to me, and I respect and admire your mother. But I raised you, Princess. I watched you grow up. You have to understand that no matter what—“

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a lovely scene?”

At the sudden deep yet feminine voice, I yanked my head up, my heart beginning to thud rapidly. Leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, was the petite yet menacing figure of the Schizl Kierviste.

“Commander!” Gruoch straightened up, her face etched in fear. “I didn’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here—“

She waved a gloved hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it. I can understand that you would want to see how the Princess is doing—after all, you two are _so close.”_

The way she said the last two words made a shiver run up my spine. I curled my fingers into fists, trembling. Her gaze raked over us, a disquieting smile on her face.

“The Princess here has been very disobedient as of late,” said Kierviste. “Although I have shown her great pleasure, she has been refusing to return the favor. Do you think she would prefer another partner to myself? Perhaps someone she knows better? Someone she… grew up with?”

I felt as if I had been submerged in ice-cold water. I started to tremble uncontrollably, cold sweat starting to trickle down the back of my neck. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

“No! No… I could never… Commander, you ask something of me I can’t… No. Do whatever you will to me, but I will _never…”_

“I wasn’t threatening you, Macduff.” Schizl’s emerald-green eyes were wide in a parody of shock. “Far from it. You have been a great help to me and the new country. Without you, undue lives would have been lost, and perhaps, the palace would have never fell…”

“Stop,” hissed Gruoch from behind gritted teeth.

She refused to meet my gaze. “Gruoch,” I whispered. She turned her head away, the backs of her knuckles white where she clenched them.

“…but I cannot say the same for the Princess.” Schizl straightened up and walked over to us, her boots making the wooden floor creak. Gruoch watched her, her face slack. I had never seen such terror in her eyes before. An anarchist had fired on me from a crowd before. I was coming back from a trip to the countryside to visit a new dam being built. Most of the crowd was cheering, but some were protesting. I saw a man in the crowd, wearing a dark suit, lift something to his shoulder level.

The first bullet missed, but the second buried itself shallowly in my upper arm when I lifted my hand to wave to the crowd. Blood had sprayed Gruoch’s face.

Almost before I had known the bullet had entered me, Gruoch was pushing me down, covering my body with hers. She shouted for the guards to flank the vehicle, and when she was sure I was protected, she leapt out of the car to go after the gunman. She chased him through the crowd and down a street, but he had gotten away in the end. But…but even then, as I saw her face, the blood spraying her marble skin as she stared into my eyes, I had never seen even a hint of fear. Not even the fear that she might lose me. I saw only anger. And determination.

But now…

“Don’t.” Gruoch’s voice was higher than I had ever heard. “Please, don’t, I’ll do anything but—“

“…since she is, of course, exempt from the trials, I think that there should be another punishment, don’t you think? After all, it would be terribly unfair to humiliate the rest of the royal family, but not her…”

 _No, no, no, no, no,_ my body sang. But I felt like I couldn't move an inch. My body felt like it was made of stone.

“…I was thinking, perhaps having her stripped naked and whipped in public? I hear the royal family did that back in the olden days to people who disagreed with them. How does that sound? Right in front of a huge crowd, outside the palace, no less… with cameras covering the whole thing…”

“Don’t you dare!” shrieked Gruoch, standing up and moving forward as if to attack Schizl. The blonde woman’s eyes darkened, and her hand went into the holster at her waist. “Don’t, Macduff. You know what reprisals would follow if you tried to attack the Commander.”

Gruoch stopped, but her posture was still stiff. “I… please, I implore you. I will do anything, anything, I will kill whomever you want, make love to whomever you choose, just, I beg of you, _don’t make me…”_

“You have a choice, Macduff.” Schizl looked at her dead-on. “Either you pleasure the princess, here and now, or the entire world will bear witness to her humiliation.” A smile curled her elfin features. “Well? What do you choose?”

Gruoch stood there, her large form trembling just so slightly. She stood there for a long time, the candle flickering low, my heavy breaths echoing in the quiet room.

Then she slowly turned back. Her face had collapsed into a horrifying resignation.

Finally, I found my voice. “No,” I squeaked as she walked over. “Don’t—Gruoch, let me get whipped. Please. I don’t care if they humiliate me, I don’t care _what_ they do to me, I just don’t… not with…”

She looked down at me. Then, she began to unbutton the top of her suit.

“Don’t,” I gasped. “Just leave. I will take the sins of my parents as the sins of my own. Let them strip me naked, let them do horrifying things to me, let them beat and rape me, but just not—“

Her clothes slid onto the floor.

I bit back a sob.

Our eyes met.

Her eyes were dark, as dark as a cave at night. Hollow and beaten. She slowly reached out to the bodice of my dress.

“Don’t!” I screamed. She tore it open, tearing the fabric from side to side.

“Whip me!” I begged, sobbing, trying to fight off her advances. “Let them whip me, and let them see me bare! Let them air the films! Just don’t…don’t…DON’T!”

But Gruoch was already undressing me, pulling the hem of my dress down so that my breasts were bare. She slid the peasant woman’s dress over my head gently, as if she were afraid to hurt me, and when all our clothes were in a pile by the bed.

When she leaned forward I slapped her, “Don’t do this! Let me be humiliated! I don’t care what they do to me! Gruoch, get out! We can’t….”

_We can’t…._

“I’m sorry, Princess. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She reached for my breasts, her clean, cool fingertips sinking into my tan flesh.

Not Gruoch.

Not the woman who had been my rock through those hard years, the woman who had held me in her arms and cradled me, comforting me through the hard trials of my youth.

_Not Gruoch._

I started to scream.

She clamped a hand over my mouth. “Don’t scream, I beg of you.”


	23. Chapter 23

I stared at the ceiling as Gruoch divested me of clothing. I tried to deprive myself of feeling.

But her fingers crept within me. Her thumb rubbed against my nub, and unwilling pleasure began to spread through my abdomen.

I twisted and tried to get away from her, but she pulled me into a hug. Her scent was warm, familiar, leather and gravel, but with the sweet smell of makeup. Just like when she had taken me into her arms, when I was five, seven, ten, when I stubbed my toe or was yelled at and started crying, tears streaming down my cheeks, and she would come and sweep me into her arms, her gentle embrace more familiar to me than my mother’s touch. And I would cling to her and bury my face in her shoulder and she would comfort me and make it all better

She kissed me. Her tongue delved deep inside me, caressing the insides of my mouth. Her bare thighs pressed against mine, her porcelain flesh pressing against mine until I spread my legs.

I wrenched my face away, but her fingers yanked my chin, and my face was pressed against hers again.

She was pressing her body between my legs, and her warm cunt was thrusting against my inner thighs. She rubbed against me clumsily, like a peasant lover, and I wondered, was she? I didn’t know enough about her background, didn’t care to ask.

Her kisses were poison. Her eyes overflowed with tears. I lay, immobile, as she fucked me, her wetness mingling with mine, her hips thrusting, until her clit twitched and she came on me. Her fluids soaked my skin.

A traitorous part of me wondered, _why was she so wet when I was not?_

But I brushed it away. The alternative was far more horrifying.

She pressed kisses to my face, to my neck. I lay immobile, but the pleasure she gave me was overwhelming. Her fingers expertly stimulated my clit, rubbing and pressing and making warmth blossom within me.

I didn’t want to feel it.

I bit my own tongue, until coppery blood stained the inside of my mouth. I focused on the taste, the foul fluid that flowed through my mouth. If I concentrated on that, then maybe…

Gruoch’s cunt was pressed against mine, rubbing and rubbing, bringing me into unwilling climax. Her loose hair brushed my collarbone, and her breath steamed against my face.

Her body was so strong, the muscles beneath her arms tensing as she held me down. She forced her body on mine again and again.

My head rolled to the side. I saw Schizl sitting on the chair, legs crossed, her face contorted in a secretive smile. She looked as if she were watching two cats play-wrestle, a strangely fond expression on her face.

I closed my eyes.

***

I never saw Gruoch again, after that.

She stopped in the doorway, her face chalk-white and emotionless, and she had bowed to Schizl, but she did not look me once in the face as she deserted me.

I wondered often, a long time after, _was it because she loved me too much? Or not enough?_

I supposed I would never know.

The heat had become too much, the dizziness swirling in my head as I tried to get up. I stumbled on the cold floor, lurched forward. I collapsed into the chair by the table and reached out. My fingers wrapped tightly around the pitcher of water, and I hesitantly lifted it to my mouth.

It didn’t cool the burning heat in my forehead. Or in my body.

When I stood up to stumble back to bed, I felt a string of wetness fall across my thighs. I looked down, my unsteady gaze catching a streak of red across my leg.

Period? I had not had one in several months. I didn’t know why. So why now?

I found myself laying on the bed, crimson blood dripping down my legs, staining the mattress. I lay and felt, the warm wetness dribbling onto the mattress, congealing against the inside of my thighs.

_Maybe, if I pretended, all the pain could just be from my period, and nothing else._

I lay in my filth for hours.

Blood covered myself, coating my legs. It soaked the mattress, stained the sheets. When Maria Benedetta came, I almost cried in relief. Her face contorted in disgust, but she brought me clean cloths to clean myself with, and new sheets.

When Schizl came next, she laughed.

“Bleeding like a common peasant,” she said. “Do your kind use lace and silk to mop up your secretions?”

I couldn’t do anything but sob. She gripped my chin and forced me to face her.

“Do you know something? Your family is going to be executed tomorrow. All of them. Your mother, father, your eldest sister—every one of them.”

Perhaps my despair had turned me into a different person.

The darkness swamped me, concealed me, comforted me. It was my friend, my lover. I looked up at her, at her poison-green eyes. My face was blank. “Do you think that matters much to me?”

I knew my mother was going to die. I supposed I knew it from the day I saw her stand trial. It was a mock trial. They were doing it for posterity, to pummel her with their complaints until they executed her.

“I know they’re going to die. I’ve always known. I suppose the real question is…” I paused to allow her time to react, her eyes widening with surprise. “Why did you spare me? Why me who personifies the greatest sins of the ruling class? I can’t think of a reason besides the obvious one. Are you in love with me?”

She stiffened, and her body moved away from mine. Her mouth was clamped tight, and her eyes frosty, but they had a distinct deadness that I had never seen before.

“No answer?”

“Silence, Princess.” Her voice was a hiss. “Do you want to know why I spared you? Do you want to know why you remained alive?”

I looked up at her, the world swirling except for her beautiful face.

“You know about our brethren in Vardany. How wouldn’t you? You are an educated noblewoman. You now the reason why their attempt at freedom failed. It was because all the other countries were too afraid of a country becoming a republic. So if we Rhosgallians had a Queen, then no other countries should protest or invade us.”

Her words echoed in my mind for a long time, before my gaze began to focus and it all made sense.

The newspaper article, painting me to be a supporter of the revolution. They needed to have someone the masses would like, so that I could be on the throne without protest. Me being sequestered and not put on trial. All of it…all of it, oh god, torturing and raping me, depriving me of laudanum, trying to break my will so that I would be the next puppet queen…

“You’re going to…”

“Of course, but only when you truly submit to us. Then, just think, you can be the queen of Rhosgalle. The queen of a new republic…” her voice was becoming softer, more persuasive. “Of course, you could never rule as a monarch—the new council will take care of matters of state. But you could live in splendor and comfort for the rest of your days. Think about it…”

I stared up at her, my eyes wide. Then I slowly reached my hands up to wrap gently around her face.

“You would…?” I whispered. “Would you let me go from here? Let me live in the palace again?”

“Yes.” Her hands went up to close over mine. “I’ll let you have everything you want, Glaucopis. All the laudanum you please. The finest silks, softest furs…and I’ll be by your side through every second of it, supporting you.”

Her eyes were locked on mine, shining with a desperation I had never seen before. Her tone had a hint of a crack underneath it. “Do you remember now, Glaucopis? Remember that day with me, with the brooch?”

I was silent for a minute, staring deep into her pleading green eyes. Her breaths were coming in short, sharp pants, eyebrows knitted together, hands tight on mine in a final craving touch.

When I spoke, my voice was hoarse, but my words strong. “I don’t remember a thing. Go to hell.”

Her scream of rage nearly deafened me. What was worse was the sensation of her gun swinging down, cracking across my temple, sending blinding white pain shooting through my skull.


	24. Chapter 24

The pain was burning away my mind. It consumed and clawed at the insides of my body, making me moan, scream, beg for relief.

But no one ever came.

I needed laudanum. That much I knew. Even though the fire raged through my body, dug its needles deep into my nerves, that thought stood first and foremost in my mind.

Maria Benedetta had not been in to visit me since my last visit with Schizl. I supposed this was Schizl’s way of punishing me for rejecting her.

Mucus had crusted around my nose, and my mouth was caked with dried vomit. My sheets were filthy, stained, coated with my filth, but I could barely move from my bed.

My stomach clenched, although I had not been able to eat in some time, and all I brought up was stomach acid that burned my throat. I heaved, and a small dribble was brought to my nose, searing the soft flesh of my nasal cavities.

I choked, sobbed, rolled on my back, the foul smell of my vomit penetrating my nose. I kicked out sporadically, the sheets twisting around my legs. The spasms seized me at random, making me twitch, lash and still. The heat was burning, burning through my entire body, incinerating me in a rictus of agony. I wanted it to end. I wanted it to end. I wanted it to end.

The door creaked.

“So, Princess.” Her voice was deceptively quiet. “Are you ready to submit to me now?”

I crushed my hands to my ears, only a soft whimper escaping from my mouth. I heard a scraping noise as she pulled up a chair to my bedside. “Dear me. You look quite ill. I have never seen you look so bad before… and to be sure, the newspapers published every bit of your personal life, including illnesses. I read them all.”

Her voice was strangely affectionate, a tone that would have set me on guard otherwise. But the pain was too much to bear, and I twisted and turned, willing myself to ignore her.

I felt a cool, wet cloth touch my forehead, and jolted. The sudden coolness made a brief relief sweep across my body. Schizl carefully mopped the dried mucus and vomit from my face. It moved lower, sliding over my neck and shoulders, cleaning away the sweat that had accumulated for months.

Once she was done, she dropped the washcloth into a bowl of water and folded her arms, looking at me with her eyes crinkling at the corners.

I folded my arms, drawing my legs up to my torso and wrapping my arms around them. I dropped my head and let my hair fall to shield my face.

Her cool fingers wove through my hair, pushing it out of my face. “Don’t hide your face. It’s a beautiful face.”

I said nothing. I wished for her to leave as soon as possible, and not make me offers that I wasn’t entirely sure I would refuse.

I tried to ignore her voice, but her next words cut straight through my heart. “Your family is being executed today.”

My head jerked up. There were words welling in my throat, but as soon as I saw her self-satisfied smile, my voice died. I sat there and looked at her. Tears were beginning to roll down my cheeks by the time she stood up. “I want you to come with me to see them.”

For a moment I wanted to fight her, say no, but I…but I…

I wanted to see them again. One last time. My mind was a haze, and perhaps if I had my wits about me, I would have refused, but…

I missed them so much.

She took my wrist and pulled me up, draping a shawl around my shoulders. Placing one hand around my hip, she gently led me to the door.

She led me through the palace. The blank walls stripped bare of portraits and paintings, and that the lush carpet under my feet now threadbare from being trod on by the boots of soldiers. We passed a few soldiers, who tipped their heads respectfully at Schizl, but stared unashamedly at me. I looked down at the ground, humiliated. Despite my shawl, my dress was open to the waist, and my breasts were bulging against the thin fabric. I felt like a whore on display.

She pulled me into a compartment. It was not the same compartment as the last time. This one overlooked the courtyard.

Birds sang. It was early spring, and normally I would be out, looking at the budding blossoms with Kashlani, having a picnic under the apple tree. The air was crisp, with a tinge of warmness.

The gardens, the beautiful, beautiful gardens, had been trampled flat. The roses that our gardener had painstakingly raised were in shreds on the ground, being carelessly stepped on by the hordes of peasants and city people that flooded the courtyard.

The gates were open, and filthy, unwashed hordes were coming in past the stone walls. Thy murmured and laughed and chatted, until a woman yelled out, “Quiet! The execution is about to begin!”

The crowd retreated revealing a wooden block set up in the middle of the courtyard.

A company of guards came out of the palace, their guns prodding a few beaten-down looking, abused people towards the block.

At first I didn’t even recognize them. Their clothes were torn and worn, seeming like slaves' garments.

But watching the confident stride of the woman in front, I knew who they were.

Ystele Marie Isabelle de Vallerand the Forth, Queen of Rhosgalle, walked at the head of the party, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. When they came to a stop in front of the block, a man dressed in black with a large sword clutched in his hand, stepped forward.

The heat swamped my body, burned my mind away. My entire body ached with pain. I wanted to fight, to call down to my family.

“I thought,” Schizl murmured in my ear, “That perhaps a more archaic way of execution would be fitting. Especially since the concept of royalty in and of itself is archaic, hmm?”

I felt my blood run cold.

“Please, no,” I whimpered. My voice was high and pleading.

Her hand slid below my waist. I wasn’t wearing anything under it. She brushed my opening teasingly.

Rosendo was seized my the guards, being taken forward. He was not in the religious garment that he so often wore, just a plain shirt and pants. I could hear his screams from where I was.

_“God help me!”_

He knelt over the block of wood

Schizl stroked me gently, skimming her fingers over my opening as the executioner hoisted the sword over his head.

Blood.

Rosendo’s body twitched as his head was severed. I did not know that a body could move after death. It did.

_“Rosendo, play with me!”_

_“I’m reading, Glaucopis. Go find Ianthos or a servant girl.”_

_“No! I want you to play with me! You’re going away to the seminary in a week! I want you to spend time with me!”_

_Perhaps sensing that I wouldn’t leave him alone, he put his book down with a sigh. “All right. What do you want to play?”_

_“Hide and seek! Let’s go out to the garden!” I grabbed his hand and led him down the hallway, beaming brightly. When I turned to face him, he had a small smile as well. “Do you want to count, then?”_

His body was shoved to the side.

The crowd cheered.

Next was Ianthos.

Oh, my cheerful brother, my beloved sibling! You didn’t deserve this!

“Didn’t he?” whispered Schizl in my ear. Had I said that aloud? I didn’t know.

She slid one finger inside me, the other gently stimulating my clitoris.

_Ianthos held me up, twirling me to the embarrassment of his friends. He laughed, his light hair shining in the sunlight._

He knelt calmly, as if he had been anticipating this.

When the sword flashed down, I thought of his face, his gentle, smiling face. His failed flirting with Gruoch, his teasing of her, the blush she used to get when he came in the room.

_If things had been different._

Could I have heard their flirting and smiled secretively, giggling with Kashlani? Could I have watched their wedding, dressed as a bridesmaid in white? Could I have held their children? Could their gentle love have…

Have…

Schizl stroked me, her blunt fingertips still pressing against my clit. Pleasure and pain wracked my body.

Ianthos’s head rolled to the side, joining his brother’s as his body was thrown onto the grass,

The crowd cheered.

***

Sylviane.

I had not seen her in years, but she was exactly as I remembered her, tall and strong. Even dressed in rags she held onto her pride, kneeling down gracefully.

_The woman in the red uniform looked back at her family, her blue eyes dull as a doll’s as she stared back. The company of horses and men were lingering at the entrance, waiting to go._

_My mother was holding onto me tightly, but I stumbled forward and waved a hand. “Bye, Sylviane! Love you!” I shrilled. Mother twisted my ear._

Disciplined by years of fighting, she stood stiffly and knelt down like a soldier.

The heir of Rhosgalle was executed.

Schizl hooked a finger inside of me, pressing against a spot that made me spasm.

The wooden block was stained with red. The fresh green grass was dark with spilled blood.

I felt a cramp rip through my belly, and my legs buckled.

My father was next.

Giorgios was the least coordinated of them all. He stumbled forward, legs trembling, until they pushed him forward with the tip of a bayonet. I supposed after seeing three of his children killed in front of him he lost a bit of his self-control. I could hear his sobs from where I was as they forced him to kneel down.

_My father’s arms were warm as he cradled me. His face, shining and handsome, hovered over mine as he used a finger to tickle my cheeks. I laughed and pushed him away. “Stop, it tickles!”_

_The cameras flashed. Unlike the other times, when my siblings had been forced to hold or play with me for the benefit of the media, my father seemed overjoyed at my presence._

_“You are such a darling girl,” he told me softly. “You are the prettiest girl in Rhosgalle, and Graecia.”_

Oh, I loved my father. Even if we had our differences, he was always in my heart. Back before the black grip of fundamentalism had sunk its fingers into his mind, he had kissed my mother on the lips in public and played with his children in the courtyard, laughing and teasing us with the sunlight shining off his glossy black curls.

Those curls were stiff with blood, his aged face permanently frozen in a rictus of terror.

Schizl used her thumb to rub my clit, sending warm pleasure shooting through my body before the next crippling spasm ripped through it.

I had sunk down to my knees by then, and was half-on her lap, half kneeling on the ground. I could feel her warmth through my dress. She pressed her knee into my ass, sending me onto my hands and knees.

She was over me like a dog, panting into my ear as she used her other hand to grope my breasts, pinching the nipple so hard I cried out.

“Stop…” I whispered, and I didn’t really know what I was telling her to stop doing.

Her only response was to laugh and dig her other finger deeper into my body, the sharp edge of her fingernail biting into the walls of my vagina. The sudden sharp pain made me arch my back.

She ground her hips against me. She was groaning and gasping, her voice heated and raspy. The sounds she was making seemed more befitting of a prostitute, high and coquettish as she feverishly humped me. She was taking so much pleasure from this.

I pressed my forehead against the stone floor, trying to take myself away from it.

I could hear distant voices in the courtyard, one that seemed like the judge at my mother’s trial, and the other my mother.

I lifted my head, and that seemed to snap her out of her heated reverie. She grabbed my waist and pulled me up, then pushed me to the balcony where she could shove me over. She gripped my hair and turned my head to look. Her nails dug into my scalp, tugging my hair so hard that tears beaded in my eyes.

I looked down at the amassed crowd of peasants, their eager eyes on the execution in front of them. A few of them spotted me and pointed, but most of them were fixed on the former Queen and the judge.

“…last words before you are executed for crimes against the people of Rhosgalle?”

She was silent, and the crowd was silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

The distant chirpings of birds reminded me that I was in the present.

“I love my family. I love my friends.” Her tone was wavering, but her voice was strong. “But above all I love my country.”

She walked forward voluntarily, her back stiff, her shoulders straight. She took her skirts and lifted them, slowly kneeling down so that her neck rested on the block.

_The monochrome photographs were spread over the table, black and white shapes scattered haphazardly. I picked one up—“Carefully,” Mother said—and studied it._

_A young woman was posing in the center, dressed in a diamond-encrusted dress. The sparkling gems decorated her bodice, adorned her ears and neck. The dress itself was lined with ermine,, the white fur respondent against her delicate pale skin. Her chestnut-brown hair was combed. and pinned up behind her head._

_She was perhaps twenty, nineteen, a young age betrayed by the fresh and youthful expression on her face. She was smiling as I had never seen her before. Her face was bright and joyful. A golden crown rested on her head, the darkness of the velvet showing up gray against the photograph._

_“This was when I was coronated,” she said._

_“What’s ‘cornated’?” I asked._

_“Coronated. It’s when a man or women gets to be a king or queen.”_

_I stared at the photo again, taking in the beauty and vitality of the woman before me. Her eyes seemed to sparkle through the photo, her lips parted in an excited smile._

_“You were so pretty,” I said._

_She let out a short laugh. “Was I?”_

_She pulled out another photograph. This one was taken last year at the Grand Regalia. She was sitting slumped in her throne, wrinkles starting along her neck and forehead. Her eyes were tired, lids drooping in exhaustion and hands loosely clutching the armrests of the throne._

_“Mother,” I said. “You’re so old here!”_

_“I am, aren’t I!” her voice was strained, and even a six-year-old me could notice it. Worried, I twisted around and put my arms around her neck. “Mother, don’t worry! You’re still beautiful!”_

_“I don’t worry about that,” she said softly, not returning my hug. For a moment she was speaking in a grown-up voice, a voice she never used with me. “I’m worried I might be getting tired. Tired and old. Unable to rule…”_

The blade sliced down.

At that moment, Schizl’s thumb pressed hard against my clit. Her other finger rubbed inside me, reaching a place that made me spasm, and the furious heat was consuming me, the pleasure setting me on fire, and the delicious sensation was spurring me into climax as I watched my mother be executed.


	25. Chapter 25

By the time I got back to my room, every muscle was screaming in pain, heavy iron thorns tearing through my flesh from the inside. I fell onto my knees as Schizl closed the door after me, and pressed my forehead into the cool floor.

I could hear her voice through a haze of agony. “Well, Princess. That certainly went well, wouldn’t you say? The commoners were certainly cheering hard…”

She let out a delicate little laugh. I clenched my hands into fists, but even I couldn’t muster up a bt of anger towards the woman. The pain distracted me from that.

I vomited again, my empty stomach heaving. Steaming hot tears washed down my cheeks. I reached out with a trembling hand, trying to pull myself forward, toward the bed.

My world spun and tipped over as Schizl unceremoniously picked me up and threw me onto the bed. I stared up at the ceiling, my gaze revolving around and around and around, until Schizl stepped into view and I focused on her.

For a moment, her beautiful, smooth face distorted, and I saw a great black beast, rotting ridges and bulging, wolfs-bane green eyes, its great fanged maw split into a cavernous smile.

“How pathetic you are, Princess,” it gurgled. “The entirety of your family executed, and you can’t even drag yourself off the ground to confront me.”

I turned around and pressed my searing hot face into the pillow, but still her voice rang out. “Of course, that wasn’t the entirety of your family…There is your brother Bertrand, away at another court, and your sister Aspalis, still a royal hostage in that godforsaken country half across the world. Ah…no matter. Once we expand our military, anything will be possible. Perhaps you might get to see them again…before they’re killed.”

“You’re a demon,” I hissed, my voice rasping through a burned and peeling throat. “You’re a monster.”

“I’m the herald of a new age,” she said haughtily, before grabbing me by the shoulder and turning me over. “Perhaps if the revolution had failed, I would not be. But all will remember me as the great, powerful and just leader of the revolution, who brought the peasants freedom.”

Her next words were drowned out by the pounding in my head, but five words lanced through the screen of heat and shadow and struck deep into my mind.

“Aren’t you missing your laudanum?” she crooned.

“Please, give it to me,” I sobbed. “I need it.”

“I will, Princess… after all, my offer still stands.”

I stared up at her through a haze of pounding heat and poison tearing my body apart. I reached out a clawing hand and latched it onto the hem of her shirt. And although my body was destroying itself with agony, the truest dagger of pain struck me with my words, “I will do anything.”

***

The rebel leader began to slowly slip off her clothes, one finger at a time for her gloves and then slapping them on the chair. She kicked off her boots, tore her shirt off, revealing planes of flesh as pale and soft as a light winter snow, not constricted by a girdle or bra.

Her nipples, small and dark as berries, stuck out against the paleness of her skin. Her breasts were small as apples, round and fruitful, erect from her body. Her trousers slid down—such beautiful legs, so long and slender, like a ballerina’s, with a perfectly arched feet. A sparse sprinkling of white had been all she had to offer between her legs, but when she spread them, I saw a yawning mouth, red and deep, its tongue lapping as she sat on the bed.

She reached out a hand and caught the neckline of the tattered dress I had been wearing. In one motion she ripped it down, exposing my tan shoulder and the top of my breast.

She shoved my legs apart, tearing my knickers apart as if they were tissue paper. My pussy was revealed, and predatory look came over the woman as she saw my quivering lips, spread in a plea to who’d ever take them.

Her fingers were in me. Thick, one after another, so big and thrusting, cruelly penetrating to the end of my vagina. So hard, so many, so fast, digging into my pink flesh, curling and scraping out strands of my mucousy slime from the deepest recesses of myself. She thrust her fingers inside me, one thumb going out to crush my clit. The sudden, jumpy pleasure it gave me overrode the pain, made me twitch and draw a strangled gasp, but I clamped my jaw shut. I didn’t want her to know I was getting pleasure from this. Not once. I closed my eyes and focused on the burning pain inside me.

“You’re so wet, Your Highness.” Her voice was gently mocking. “As it has been for so many women, I’m sure. I bet you’re dripping all the time, ready for whatever lover wants to take you.”

Despite her soft tone, I could hear an undercurrent of dark anger. I had learned to recognize it well with my other lovers. With all the many lovers I had, jealousy was no stranger to me.

But why would she be—

Another slap yanked my out of my thoughts. “Did you hear what I had just told you? Lick. And lick hard.”

She was spreading her legs, exposing her pink flower to me. I crawled over to her, extending my tongue, and she grabbed it between her slender forefinger and tongue, yanking it hard,

“How many women have you pleasured with this tongue…?” she said, almost thoughtfully. Her nails dug into the sensitive flesh.

Before I knew it, she had shoved my head between her legs. “Eat me out. Is that what you nobles say? Eat me.”

I began to lick, deep into the crevices of her cunt, tasting her sourness, the dampness on my face. Her clit was swollen, and I sucked it, eliciting an appreciative moan, which was soon followed by a yank on my hair.

I looked up and saw her face, so pale and beautiful, like an elfin queen. Her eyes, like emeralds and fresh leaves, her perfect, soft skin, her pale lips, quirked in a smile…

If we had met outside of this, in a ball or formal meeting, I would have been attracted to her. She had exactly the characteristics I liked, the gracefulness, the perfect skin and hair, the youthful face. The way she carried herself, determined and elegant. Like she knew what she wanted, and how she wanted to get it.

For a moment I was reminded of Kashlani, her hair flowing over her shoulders and an imperious expression on her face. She always liked to be dominant. My Kashlani…

She smacked the side of my head, and music rang in my brain. “Did I say you could stop? Keep going.”

I bent my head and began licking again, digging deeper into her body. Her back arched, her fingers clutching the sheets. Her slender throat was thrown back, mouth gasped in a pleading high.

I closed my eyes and delved deeper, my face pressed against her soft folds. I turned my head back and forth, and my hand came up to assist me, pressing and rubbing her nub.

_Just focus. Focus on pleasing her. Then it will be all done, and you’ll get your laudanum…_

But Schizl’s hands were crawling down my back, delving between my legs and gently rubbing at my lips. I was wet now—I usually was, at this stage in the game—

_The blade sliced down. My mother’s head came off cleanly, in a spurt of blood, and her body twitched horribly, spasming, kicking out._

I pulled my head away to draw back a strangled breath to scream, but she forced my head back, and I was again forced to kneel on the filthy bedspread, lapping at her like a dog, my body bare and my breasts rubbing against the coarse mattress.

Schizl’s fingers rubbed inside me, twisting and piercing, hitting the spots that I loved, making me moan and writhe under her touch.

“Oh, you are so predictable, princess… I bet every man and woman in Rhosgalle would know how to please you after that movie you released…”

Oh, said a part of my mind, one that had somehow managed to exist above the torture and rape and sickness, _That one? Made my mother so mad, I’ll tell you… she threatened to marry me off if I made another one! Vivian managed to convince me, and did I ever need convincing. What an uproar!_

I almost giggled at the sudden burst of thought. Schizl must have seen the expression on my face, because her grip tightened in my hair and she shoved my face deeper. She was clutching me so hard that my scalp was numb, but I kept laving her deeply, the tip of my tongue massaging her walls, spurring into a screaming climax.

When she was done she knelt over me, breathing deeply, fingers lax inside of me. Then she stiffened and drew them out.

She reached downward beside the bed and I heard a rustling, then she pressed something cold and glass against my cheek. “Here’s your laudanum, Glaucopis. And if you continue to please me, there shall be much more of that.”

As she stepped off the bed and began to dress, I feverishly uncorked the bottle and poured the liquid down my throat, reveling in the strong bitter taste of alcohol and saffron.

I let myself thump onto the hard mattress, my breathing ragged, until the world dissolved around me.


	26. Chapter 26

Sister Maria Benedetta knew something was wrong when she didn’t hear the tell-tale sobs of the Princess as she approached the door. She was carrying clean linens and a new dress. This was the first time she had been called in to care for the princess for a long time, so she assumed Commander Kierviste must have made a breakthrough. Perhaps the princess had succumbed and agreed to be the new queen.

Not that Maria cared…not much. Regimes came and went. This hadn’t been the first “people-ruled republic”, not by a long shot. She had come across various references, through her studies, to a series of republics established in the early fifth century in eastern Graecia. She could find no more about it, not how long it had lasted, nor how it began. It was in no official history books, just dusty old records and papers locked in a back room of the convent and forgotten for hundreds of years.

Time passed. Perhaps this revolution, too, had been a mistake. Perhaps, in time, things would return to status quo, with the peasants working and tolling the fields, and the nobles sitting high above them in their gilded palaces.

Not, of course, that it would affect her very much. Nuns and monks were never affected by these power plays that went on. They stayed, and they wrote, and they prayed.

Honestly, if there was one royal family that deserved to be executed, it would be the de Vallerands. What with the debauched sister of the queen, the heir to the throne Sylviane and her _preference_ for dogs, the ruling couple and their shameless attraction to each other in their later years…

And the slut of a princess herself, that succubus who had herself tried to seduce her months prior. That wicked devil, that crow in the guise of a dove, that…

Maria Benedetta cut herself short as the door swung open. Princess Glaucopis was not huddled in the corner of her bed with her knees to her chest as she usually was, but sprawled over the bedsheets, legs spread and arms outstretched.

For a moment the nun wondered— _Was she alive?_ She set her bundle of cloths down and approached her carefully. Glaucopis’s eyes were wide-open and glassy. Her mouth was slightly parted, as if in a prayer.

It was only when Maria Benedetta was standing next to the bed did she notice the tell-tale rising and falling of the Princess’s chest. Her sea-glass eyes flickered minutely. A slight rasping of breath came from between her parted lips.

Glaucopis’s bodice was ripped halfway, exposing her large, bountiful breasts. There were half-healed bite marks around the small brown nipples. There were yellow bruises on her neck, sickly and dark like a shadow on a dandelion. Her thighs were skinner than they had ever been, her lovely—

_Not lovely. Sinful._

\--labia red and swollen. A bit of dried blood was sticking to her inner thigh, dripping from inside of her. It didn’t look like the blood that came once a month. It looked like it had come from something that hurt her.

Maria Benedetta snorted and turned away. What Commander Kierviste wished to do with the former Princess was no concern of hers. But as she unfolded the dress and laid it on the table thoughts came unbidden to her mind.

_Glaucopis’s sunlit brown hair, falling over her bare shoulders as she laced up her bodice. The edge of the corset biting into the soft dark skin under her breast._

_Glaucopis’s soft pink lips sealing onto Princess Kashlani’s, arms coming up her back, entwining in the jet-black locks. Kashlani’s fingers skimming over her breasts, down her ribcage to her thighs, only to delve between her plump legs, rubbing and thrusting until Glaucopis flung her head back and screamed._

_Glaucopis lifting her dress in the dark hallway, a bewitching smile on her face. Her pink mound of venus, The way she offered herself, as if she were just begging for Maria Benedetta to press her face against her…_

The pile of linens tumbled to the floor.

Maria Benedetta turned to the disgraced Princess, her breaths harsh and loud in her throat.

Before she quite knew what she was doing, she was kneeling on the bed, ripping the remainder of the dress off the Princess.

Her body was thinner than it had been. Her formerly sleek, tawny legs resembled more of a chicken. Her ribs were poking out under her breasts. The rims of her sea-blue eyes were inflamed red.

But Maria Benedetta could not stop. She could not stop the desires she had felt since she laid eyes on the Princess, since she had seen her lustrous body in the sunlight that bathed her bedroom. Since she had seen Princess Kashlani lower her head to her thighs and felt the sharp sting of jealousy invade her chest.

Maria Benedetta kissed her motionless lips. Her long, thin fingers probed within her, caressing the soft pink walls.

She imagined the Princess moaning, pressing against her, wrapping her legs around her waist.

Maria Benedetta shuddered.

_Surely she must have been sent by the devil, to tempt this virtuous woman so! The beautiful demon, lingering in her thin nightgown, tilting her head to stare at the clothed nun, her eyes so bright.  
_

Maria Benedetta's habit was gone, her coif was discarded on the floor. The black and white clothing flickered in the candlelight.

She straddled the disgraced Princess, strong thighs trapping hers. Glaucopis’s face was serene, impassive, her mouth opened blankly. Maria Benedetta eagerly sucked her tongue into her mouth, reveling it the bitter taste of opium on her tongue. Such a depraved woman she was. Back before the palace had fallen, Maria Benedetta had been witness many times to her consuming bottle after bottle of the poison, lying on her silken bedsheets with her head resting on her arm and her legs entwined in the sheets like a sated cat.

Not _now,_ though. Now she was sprawled like a common whore, her limbs open and inviting. _If not me, another guard. If not another guard, Commander Kierviste—_

Maria Benedetta leaned down, taking her dark nipple in her mouth. She sucked longingly, the nub of flesh stiffening when the older woman's hand delved between her thighs.

Even under the influence, the Princess still felt the lustful ministrations of another person.

_She would get wet for anyone. What a slut. What a whore…_

But still, Maria Benedetta couldn’t help but slide her thighs in between hers, hesitantly rubbing herself against her. She could feel the soft dampness begin to sink into her skin. Slicking the surface as her hips began to move faster.

The movement was beautiful, the friction growing hotter and heavier as the princess spread her legs. _Even while unconscious, she still desires sex. How predictable._

_Such a feeling._

But no one would know.

_No one would no know._

Even when Maria Benedetta, then a scared little girl called Francesca, had reached timidly between her legs, rubbing cautiously, fearful, afraid a senior nun would burst in and look at her with eyes that shone with hellfire—

Even when she reached between her thin, pale legs, stroking and digging her fingers deep, muffling a moan with her coarse pillow—

Maria Benedetta looked up at the cracked ceiling, her mouth opening in a stifled gasp, feeling the sudden jolting climax set alight in her belly. It spread throughout her body, her fingers trembling and clenched on the soft skin of Glaucopis, her nails sinking deep into the flesh of her thighs—

Sister Maria finished with a gasp.

For a moment she looked at the woman beneath her, chest heaving, head throbbing. Then the nun leaned down to lie beside her, hot eyes closing, legs entwined around the other woman’s waist. Maria Benedetta was still in heat, her belly tight and warm, something inside her demanding more stimulation. But her body was too tired to do anything more.

Maria Benedetta looked at the woman beside her. The Princess’s face was the same, slack and peaceful. The nun buried her face in the warm nape of her neck. She nuzzled forward, nipping the skin of her neck.

For a moment, she felt comfortable. She felt satisfied. She felt complete.


	27. Chapter 27

The warm sunlight bathed me in its golden glow, as delicious as warm honey. It lit the ends of my fingers and toes on fire, made every breath rising from my chest a mist. When I cracked my eyes open, I saw the vast blue sky, and the tips of verdant green trees.

A head appeared in my vision, and I felt the tips of long, raven hair tickle my face. “Glaucopis.”

Her beautiful, fond voice made me smile. “Kashlani.”

I sat up. The soft linen of my summer dress tightened across my knees as I sat on the green grass, shielding my eyes from the bright sunlight.

Kashani was sitting on the grass. She was wearing a light, loose dress, white, patterned with blue flowers. I nearly sobbed when I saw her. Her glossy black hair tumbled loose to her waist, and her face was bright and warm with happiness. Her skin looked soft enough to touch, and as she smiled at me, I felt a familiar heat of affection alight me. “Kashlani…”

She leaned forward to caress my face with the tips of her fingers. “Glau, you looked so upset. I was getting worried. I had to wake you up.”

I let a sob come to the top of my throat. “Kasha, I had a dream. An awful dream. I dreamed there were people that wanted us dead… and you got taken away, and there was this terrible woman and, and…Kasha!”

_The pain of violation spreading through me as Schizl forced too many fingers inside me, Kashlani speeding away from me with her hands splayed on the windshield, the sight of my mother’s convulsing body limply falling over sideways, blood spurting from the hole in her neck…_

I had been in a world of pain and misery. But I was safe now. I was with Kashlani. It had all just been a dream. A horrible, horrible dream…

“I thought I would never see you again,” I wept, pressing my wet face into her shoulder. “I dreamed Mother was gone, and so was Father, and Ianthos…”

She stroked my hair, her soft fingers tangling through the golden-brown locks. “Ssh. It’s all over now.”

I heaved and sobbed, the shoulder of her dress turning transparent from my tears. She whispered soft comforts in my ear as I spent myself against her, until finally coughing and sniffing, I lifted my head to face her.

It was all over. The terrible fantasy was fading away into the dark recesses of my mind. Now there was only sunlight, and soft grass, and the shining of her hair, and the lift of her dark shoulder as she wrapped her arms around me.

Her eyes were soft and dark, filled with gentleness and affection. “It’s alright,” she said. “It’s all over. I’m here. I love you, Glaucopis.”

Her words echoed, and then faded, as if she were disappearing down a long tunnel. The world pulsed, and the clear blue sky began to darken. The trees shifted and swayed in the sudden wind. As I looked at Kashlani, her soft, beautiful face rippled, and broke apart.

And I was falling backward, into nothingness.

***

I woke.

A choked gasp made me suck air in, coughing and hacking until the sweet air filled my lungs. I cracked my eyes open and the dull brown ceiling, stretched with cobwebs, came into view.

I was wide awake.

I was awake like I had never known before.

My mind was clear. My limbs trembled, the pain of withdrawal that had plagued me for so many months was gone. It was washed from my body.

The sudden awareness of how unclothed I was struck me. I moved my shivering hands up and over my arms, my shoulders. Sounds that I was not sure were mine echoed and gasped around the room. I realized there was a body next to me.

For a moment I panicked, not knowing if Kierviste would punish me for waking up before another woman. Then my sane mind came flowing back in, and I recognized the figure sprawled beside me.

Maria Benedetta was curled beside me, her arms loosely furled in an embrace. She lay on her side, breathing up and down, her mouth slack and her body limp. She was unclothed. What was she doing, unclothed beside me?

I didn’t know.

All I knew was that I needed to get out of here.

***

Lucy Lockhart had escaped from one of her bad captors. She had done it and gotten away to solve the mystery. What had she done?

Maria Benedetta’s coif and habit lay discarded on the floor.

_Lucy looked at the clothes and stifled a gasp. She lifted them and thought, “I could use these to get out of here!” She pulled them on and creaked the door open. She looked out for guards._

The sudden idea sparking into my mind made me stand up straight. I looked fearfully to see if the Sister had roused, but she still slept as deeply as she had before.

The cloth of the coarse nun’s habit was rough against my skin, but I had dealt with the coarsest of cloth these past few months. I forced myself to ignore it. I fumbled with the clothes, wondering how to put it on, but finally I arranged it accurately, and smoothed my hands over my body.

I had no mirror, but I knew that I stood obedient and shy in her nun’s clothing. I lowered my head and walked out. Every step was a mile, every mile a league,

 _“I am Lucy Lockhart. I am escaping,”_ I thought to myself, and as I put one hand on the side of the door, I heard a low murmur behind me.

I froze, body weight resting on one foot, one hand outstretched. My breath stopped short. I heard a rustling of sheets and the creak of the mattress, and I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the worst.

But after a few moments of silence, nothing happened. I turned back and saw that Sister Maria had shifted in her sleep, her arms loosely cradled, as if she were missing a warm body to hold.

I turned back and stepped through the door.

The hall was just as I remembered it, threadbare rug and blank walls. I carried myself slowly, taking small steps and stepping on the tips of my feet, trying not to make too much noise. I knew where freedom was. I just needed to get to it.

I heard laughter up ahead. I yanked my coif over my head, bending my head so that no one could see my face. As the laughter got closer, I felt a ball of ice form in my stomach. What if they recognized me? What if they saw me and ripped my headdress off and threw me to their comrades? What if—

They passed me without a word. A couple of male soldiers, done up smartly in dark green, all talking about what they wanted to do for the weekend. They barely looked at me.

I stood where I was, trembling, the fright and chill and relief sinking into every recess of my body.

Then I began to walk faster.

The kitchen was shut down. It was being used as a propaganda room—as far as I could see, with the stoves and refrigerators ripped out, and the bare room filled with tables and typewriters. Posters were plastered on the blank white walls, splashes of red and bold black letters, the pure faces of peasants and working men taking up a third of the frame. They all looked up, their painted eyes shining, as if the world they strived for was in the next frame.

The lone secretary working at the desk gave me a cursory glance, then went back to clicking on her typewriter.

I clutched the doorknob—the cold, metal doorknob—and cast another glance at her. Her eyes were furrowed as she banged letters on the typewriter.

Would it really be this easy? Could I just walk out, disappear into the crowd, escape, without any chase or agitation, just vanish into the snow-fleshed streets?

I pushed out into the chill night streets, the moon shining down from behind the ruins of the grand white mansions that surrounded me.


	28. Chapter 28

Cold. It was cold.

My feet were barefoot and freezing in the snow that covered the sidewalk. The dull pain climbed up my leg, sinking freezing tendrils into my flesh. I winced and stumbled, holding out a hand to skim over the wall of the building.

I needed to get somewhere where I needed help. I needed to get in contact with Bharata. I needed to get out of here, out of Rhosgalle, as quick as possible.

Through my hazy eyes, I saw a group of people gathered ahead. I kept my head down and tried to hurry by, but the warm smell of soup drifted into my nostrils.

How long had it been since I had last eaten?

I peered closer. It seemed to be a sort of…soup station? Whatever it was, a man in a green military uniform was giving out bowls of soup for free. It was quite strange. Free food, in the middle of winter?

I walked closer. A woman spotted me and dipped her head. “Hello, Sister. Are you hungry?”

“Y—yes…” I said as the warm aroma of garlic and meat flooded my nostrils. She smiled and handed me a bowl. I gripped the metal spoon and hesitantly dug it into the soup.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” said the woman, tugging her brightly-colored scarf around her head.

I nodded and began to walk away. I needed to get as far away from the palace as possible. But the woman seemed intent on keeping my attention. “Now they’re instating programs to help the hungry and disabled. Just in the capital, of course, but there’s no doubt that they’ll spread to the countryside, too. It’s amazing…now no one’s ever going to starve, ever again!”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, still walking. She ran to catch up. “And we’re pulling out of the war, too! Sister, if I could ask you—just how are you affected? I mean, the church? What’s their view on this? I’m a journalist, see, and—“

“I’m not supposed to talk to journalists,” I cut her off shortly. “Please, I have to get back to church.”

“I’ll walk you there!” She smiled brightly, falling into step beside me. “So—you know, ever since the royals were overthrown, things have just…they’re so much better. Things have just _blossomed_. My elderly mother’s being put into assisted living next month. People are actually going to _take care of her,_ free of charge. All because of Schizl Kierviste.”

A lump of panic rose in my throat when I heard the name. I lifted another spoonful of soup to my mouth, trying to look natural.

The woman cupped her cheek in her hand. Her eyes were dreamy. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she? I saw her on television the other night. I’m a married woman, but gosh, if I were given the opportunity—“

My soup bowl spilled on the ground. Yellow broth stained the white slush.

The woman looked at the bowl lying on the street, frowning, then back at me. “Why—“

I had willingly pleased that woman. Willingly. After she had slaughtered my entire family. I had pressed my face between her legs and licked her, and inhaled her scent, and let her thrust her fingers inside me—

_For what? Just a bottle of laudanum._

I was running, running far and fast, ignoring the worried shouts behind me. My legs pumped, my heart thudded, and heat rose up inside of me, burning hot even with the chill of the night air. Terror was overwhelming me, pounding in my head, making my gaze tremble and a scream well in my throat.

When I could finally run no more I collapsed in the mouth of an alley and vomited, soup splattering the damp gray cobblestones. I stumbled backwards and fell, then crawled into the alley. The snow made my fingers numb, and I buried them in the fabric of my habit as I leaned against the side of the building.

I was pathetic. Just a drugged-up socialite with no ambition, no drive, no mind. All I had cared about was my next fix, my next sexual encounter…

I was weak. So weak I had pleasured the murderer of my family on my hands and knees. All for a hit of opium. I had watched while my family’s heads were sliced off, while she thrust her fingers inside of me and forced me to climax, then I had crawled over to her and began to eat her out.

_I’m no better than a common whore._

The thought of my family’s beheadings brought a sob to my throat, and I curled up on my side, my head thumping to the ground. The coldness had receded somewhat—or was I just freezing to death? That didn’t sound so bad. A suitable punishment for she who had betrayed her family.

I was the only one who deserved to be beheaded. Not my mother, whose country was her love and her life. Not Sylviane, who gave up her youth marching off to war, and stayed there and fought even when it was clear we weren’t going to win. All I had done, all I had ever done was be an embarrassment to my family, and yet I was the only one left standing at the end.

My family…they were gone. All of them. Bertrand and Aspalis I had not seen in several years, was not close to—they were strangers to me. My warm brother, my imperious and proud mother—the woman I had looked up too since I was a child—they were gone. They would never come back. I would never hug my father, feel his warmth. I would never—never—

The tears oozing out of my eyes started to fall faster and faster. My sobs were high and weak in the dark, empty alley, like the mews of a kitten.

Gone.

Gone.

I was now comfortably warm. My eyes drooped. I tried to shift, but my body wasn’t listening to me.

Gone. My family… Gruoch, who had taken one look back at me and left forever, Kasha…

_Kasha!_

The sudden jolt made me sit up, my entire body protesting and screaming as I struggled to climb out of the drift of snow.

Kashlani. I couldn’t forget about her. She was the only thing I had left, my friend and lover and the dearest person to me in the world, and she was alive. I needed to be with her.

God, all this time. She had to have known I was alive, and being put through the worst torture possible. I couldn’t betray her. I had to _live,_ to stand up and fight my way back to her. She was all I had left.

Her face, pressed against the back of the car, flashed through my memories. We had been torn apart so cruelly, thrown thousands of miles away from each other, but we were both alive. For her, for Kashlani, I had to survive.

_I’ll make it back to you, Kasha. And we’ll never be apart again._

My breaths came in short and sharp. I struggled up, leaning against the brick wall of the building for support, and began to stumble toward the light.

***

**Interlude**

 

Maria Benedetta woke with her eyes bleary and her body warm. One hand rose up to wipe the crust from her eyes.

She curled her hand, expecting to find a warm body to fit against her. When she didn’t, she snapped her eyes open, and caught sight of the woman standing before her.

Schizl Kierviste stood quietly, dressed impeccable as always in her green military uniform, hair combed perfectly under her sharp cap.

Just catching sight of her blonde hair made panic begin to hatch inside of Maria. She sat up, trying desperately to yank the sheets around her, to be respectable. “Commander Kierviste—“

“Sister Maria.” As always, her voice was gentle, not confrontational. “Where is Princess Glaucopis?”

Maria caught sight of Kierviste’s eyes— _dead_ eyes. Dead as the green scum that floated on top of the ponds where she grew up in.

She scrambled up, a chill of panic spreading over her skin, her insides, her brain. Schizl Kierviste, _Commander Schizl Kierviste._

“C-Commander Kierviste,” she said, as most of her sentences had begun. But what came after died upon her lips.

Because she didn’t know what to say.

Really, what _could_ she say?

For a moment of pleasure, she had sacrificed her loyalty, her faith and her safety. She had damned herself to hell.

Kierviste kicked over the wooden table. The cheap porcelain of the plates smashed against the wall, scattering shards over the floor.

The sound made Mara Benedetta wince, drawing her arms close around her, expecting to find the soft fabric of her habit to shield herself with. But her habit was gone, and as she looked around for her clothing, everything else. The Princess must have taken her clothes while she slept and walked out.

 _“Where is she?”_ screamed Kierviste, her voice wavering and unhinged.

Maria Benedetta had never seen the leader of the rebellion like this before, trembling and snarling, her shoulders slumped and her fists balled at her waist. Her hair was escaping from her bun, golden strands falling across her ghost-pale face.

She had always been in control, was always on top of things, save for her little sin tucked carefully away in a room in a corner of the palace. But now she was trembling, tears escaping from her eyes, her entire, carefully-crafted image fraying at the edges .

“I fell asleep,” Sister Maria lamely, aware that her own excuses were nothing before the High Commander. Her own lust and suffering had been hers alone to take when she saw the absence of clothing.

Kierviste turned her furious gaze on her. In those brilliant green eyes Maria saw a boiling rapture she had never witnessed before. They were the color of the emerald flames of the afterlife she had seen while standing at the deathbed of the Mother Superior, the cruel woman who had so often ordered her and her lay sisters to be whipped.

 _This_ , she realized with a start, _is a person destined for hell._

She barely noticed Kierviste’s nails on her neck, digging into the soft skin and choking her words when she tried to force them out.

“I know you know where she is,” hissed the leader of the revolution, tightening her grip on the other one’s neck. _“Tell me.”_

“We…” Maria Benedetta choked as Kierviste’s thin fingers sunk into her throat. She rasped, “We fell asleep and Princess Glaucopis escaped. She…she must have taken my clothes and walked out.”

All at once, Kierviste let go of her throat, and Maria Benedetta fell backwards onto the rough cot. She gripped her throat and gasped sweet air as the door slammed open.

Maria heard boots clumping down the hall, and when she sat up, she saw that Commander Kierviste was gone.

She stayed where she was, trembling and listening as footsteps ran along the hall and shouts began to echo through the palace.

She wanted to get up, wrap herself in a sheet and tiptoe back to her room to await her punishment like a child. But she couldn’t move. All she could think of was Schizl Kierviste’s eyes, shining a sick bright green, like windows to hell.

 


	29. Interlude

****

 

**_Three Years Ago_ **

 

The theater was grimy and derelict. Schizl shivered and drew her shawl closer around herself.

“Come on! The movie’s starting in five minutes! And you know it’s only playing for two weeks!”

The nobleman’s son grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. She yanked herself out of his grip and eyed him with distaste. She despised the boy, and had only agreed to be here because of the woman in the starring role. She knew he lusted after her, in that panting, tail-wagging way all teenage boys did, but she had nothing but contempt for him.

Soon they were seated in the filthy theater, him almost bouncing in excitement, her sitting primly with her hands folded in her lap, like her mother had taught her. Also to hide the knife hidden in her sleeve—the police were getting more stringent about revolutionary activities, and she wanted to be able to defend herself if they burst in and took her away. Which was beginning to happen more and more these days—Gemma had been arrested at her workplace and taken away five months prior. Doubtless she was dead by now, or festering away in a prison cell with no hope for escape.

Schizl would rather die than have that happen to her.

The room was black, only the shifting shapes of the people in front of her visible. Then the movie theater lit up, and a flickering black and white picture illuminate the scene.

Schizl found that she was holding her breath.

The camera panned upward to reveal a dark-haired woman—it would have been red but for the monochrome—dressed in Graecian warrior’s garb, with a metal breastplate, sword strapped to her side, and loose toga that fell to her knees. She was a gorgeous woman, with a fine, shining white face and long eyelashes, exuding an aura of power.

She was walking silently through the forest, carefully brushing branches out of the way with one hand on her sword. Her sandal-clad feet carefully stepped through the mass of twigs and dried leaves on the ground. All of a sudden, she froze, and her eyes widened.

The scene changed to a clear pool, sunlight sparkling off the water. It was surrounded by dense forest, and a waterfall spilled from the cliff above her to splash into the pool.

A slender figure sat by the edge of the water, white toga pooled around her waist. She looked around, lips arched in a smile, and Schizl felt her breath short up.

She was exactly as she remembered her.

The same coquettish eyes, the same small nose, the soft skin and voluminous hair, falling to cover her breasts.

She stood up slowly, her body enfolding, her legs standing up slowly to reach her full height. She shifted her hair to give a tantalizing glimpse of her buttocks, then turned around fully.

Her body was a bit heavier, but no less attractive. Her plumpness had lent a certain amount of voluptuousness to her figure, large breasts and thick thighs, so easy to wrap her hands around…

Schizl was suddenly aware of the warmth pooling between her legs.

She stepped forward, her body swaying slightly, as if she didn’t intend it to. But her breasts lay heavy on her body, seductive despite her innocent movements.

The warrior exited the screen of trees, her eyes widened as she caught sight of the beautiful nymph that stood in front of him.

The nymph, Princess Glaucopis de Vallerand of Rhosgalle, swayed her hips, her mouth arching in a smile, and her white toga lay forgotten on the ground as she approached the warrior.

All the young men in the audience were moaning, their hands on their pricks or rubbing their thighs. Schizl felt a sudden wave of shame overcome her, and her legs tightened together. How could the princess of such an illustrious county show herself in such a way?

She felt hot, boiling anger rise to her throat, burning away her previous memories, of sweet Glaucopis, generous and beautiful, like a fairy dancing in the sunlight.

 _They were right_ , she thought miserably as Glaucopis approached Vivian. _She really was nothing but a whore._

Her indignation rose as she lifted her arms and gathered them around Vivian, her smile widening. They kissed, Vivian’s arms going around her bare waist. The pale arms sunk deep into her dark flesh, pulling her cruelly towards the other woman.

The men in the audience were panting heavily, some moans echoing out against the walls. Glaucopis and Vivian were on the ground, entwined against each other, Glaucopis’s legs wrapped around the other woman’s slender waist.

Schizl felt the hot sting of betrayal as Glaucopis threw her head back and moaned. The was suddenly self-conscious of the nobleman’s son beside her, his hands between his legs. He gasped and moaned at the sight of the nymph and the warrior making love

The scene showed the warrior’s slender fingers penetrating Glaucopis’s soft body The younger woman writhed, her pink lips open in a moan as Vivian smiled devilishly and thrust her fingers farther.

How could an heir of the glorious kingdom of Rhosgalle degrade herself in such a way?

Schizl felt tears rise to her eyes. _How could you?_

In her mind, she thought of the first time she had met the princess, her loose white dress swirling around her ankles, hair loose to her shoulders and eyes laughing and gentle.

The soft touch of fingers against her breast, pinning the brooch to her dress.

_Besides, it’s much prettier on you._

Schizl felt something warm begin to drip down her cheek.

Glaucopis was spread out against the screen, legs apart, the centurion licking deeper and deeper, her foul tongue delving the depths of her pure body. Schizl stood up, her shoulders trembling, and made her way down the aisle.

The dark curtained exit loomed before Schizl. She didn’t want to watch the Princess degrade herself before the Kingdom this way. It was humiliating, horrifying.

Hatred solidified inside her. _How could she do that?_ Did she have no respect for her country?

She staggered out into the dark, wet street, lamps flickering above her, orange light casting glimmering shadows onto the dark cobblestones.

The nobleman’s son caught her around the waist, sudden hardness pressed against her rear.

“I can see that you got turned on,” he said breathlessly, thrusting against her backside. "You liked seeing the princess slut fucking that other woman, didn’t you? You common whore. I bet you'd get wet seeing dogs fucking…” he said, gripping her arms tight as he dragged her into a dark alleyway.

“You should be honored that I'm deigning to do this with you. You tramp.”

Schizl turned her head to meet his gaze.

As soon as their eyes met, he flinched.

Her hand clutched his wrist, as hard as iron. There was a soft rustling, like metal sliding against cloth.

A spray of blood hit the dull concrete of the building, decorating in a fan of dark red. The limp body fell to its knees,

Schizl looked on coldly as the nobleman’s son collapsed, clawing soundlessly at his throat, blood spurting over the cobblestones. The red seeped onto the stones, wetting the thin soles of her shoes, and she stepped backwards disdainfully.

With one last contemptuous glance at the dying body, she walked ahead, her skirts billowing behind her, her loose blonde hair blowing in the midnight breeze.

_You common whore._

The sudden vision of the Princess of Rhosgalle came to her mind, except accompanied by a sudden, frightening feeling of anger,

_You betrayed me. You betrayed your country._

Her body hardened with betrayal, and the last feelings of tenderness and love fled from her heart.

***


	30. Chapter 30

I had stolen a pair of shoes from outside a home while the family bustled about inside. The shoes were too small for me, but at least they kept the cold snow off my feet. Finally, I was starting to feel sensation on my toes now.

I had discarded my habit in the alleyway of another building, figuring that it would only help people identify me. They almost certainly had discovered my deception by now. The clock was ticking. I had to get out.

I knew my way to the harbor—I had taken ocean liners out of Rhosgalle often before. I was fairly sure I could find my way there. I would have to cut through the factory district and make my way to the south side of the city.

As I walked through the noble’s district, I could barely recognize it. All the beautiful mansions were in ruins, their charred wooden beams sticking up from the frozen ground like bones. Pieces of porcelain littered the ground, and one shard stabbed my sole through the thin brown cloth of the shoes.

It was like looking at a nightmare. All the places that I had visited, played in, ran through with the other nobles’ children…they were all destroyed. Ground to dust. I would never be able to sit on the lawn and admire the garden, or hide from Gruoch in a side room with my knees drawn up to my chest, giggling with Kashlani as Gru shouted and yelled at us to come out.

The dawn’s light bathed the street in eerie red. The sun was just emerging on the horizon, streaking the sky with scarlet pink. Orange mist lingered on the empty street.

A sudden flash of déjà vu struck me as I continued down the sidewalk. I remembered this place. This was where Aunt Nireille lived!

I looked up, trying to find her house. There, just beyond Baroness June’s house. The familiar lacquered chateau came into sight, and to my astonishment, it wasn’t destroyed. My heart soared. Was she there? Maybe she was under house arrest. But I was sure she could help me.

I broke into a run, footsteps thudding down the empty sidewalk as I came up to her gate. It was unlocked—I pushed it open. The metal grate screeched as I pushed it in. The windows were dark and empty.

I crept up the stone path to her front door. Slowly, my hand reached out and took the knocker. It was ice-cold to the touch, and I snatched my hand away with a hiss. Finally I just grabbed it and slammed it down a couple times, then waited

No answer.

I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, expecting to find it locked, but instead it slowly swung open.

Brightness dazzled me.

I was looking directly at sun-lit snow, covering the floor and the grass beyond. I blinked, uncomprehending, until I took a hesitant step forward and saw what was wrong.

The front part of the house was intact, but everything beyond the frame was gone. The walls had collapsed, and the floorboards were covered with a heavy dusting of white. I could see vague outlines of furniture, an armchair collapsed on its back, a pile of ashes with a few book pages lingering on its periphery.

Nireille wasn’t there.

I slowly sat down, my knees crunching into the snow.

Did they take her away as well? Did they kill her? My dear aunt…I remembered her smiling face, her teasing demeanor, her freewheeling attitude. She of all people had never judged me for being who I was. She was always there to comfort me after I fled the palace in shame from my father’s anger. She was understanding, protective, and fun. When I was a child, I always wanted to be like her when I grew up.

Familiarity crept through me as I stared at the ruined rooms. It had been here that my world had begun to fall apart. When we had fled the angry crowd throwing rocks at us, it had been here we had taken shelter. As I had sat there, I had wondered why they had turned against us, their own royal family.

But now…I could almost understand. Seeing how happy people were now, I could only imagine what it was like for them before the revolution started. Something had to have happened to make them tear down a whole district. Had the war really been that bad?

_“You and your kind have spent centuries treading on us. Centuries gathering the benefits of our labor.”_

Schizl’s hissed voice echoed through my memories. Cold fear shot through my body. I needed to stop dallying about and get out of here. Time was running out. Surely they had people searching me by now.

I tried to stagger up, but a bolt of pain shot through my midriff, and I fell to my knees again, clutching my belly. Panic swept through me as I recognized the pain.

I needed laudanum.

***

Each step I took, I was becoming increasingly aware of the slow pain that was beginning to sink into my bones. Two streets past and I began to feel lightheaded. How could it come back so fast? I had had so much the night before.

I was entering a more populated area now, and people were starting to open up their shops and drive their carts into the street. Hunger gnawed at my belly, not making the pains any better. I looked around hopefully for one of those free soup stands, but there were none. A passing cart stocked with apples clopped past me, and one fell off the top and bounced onto the ground. I immediately snatched it up and tore into it, trying to ignore the stares of the amused city people as they watched what looked like a half-mad woman in a baggy black dress scarf down an apple like she was half-starved.

The sweet juice flowed down my throat as I tore off chunk after chunk, not stopping until there was only a thin core left. I threw it away into a back street and continued on my way.

By the looks of it, I had passed the noble’s district and entered the commerce district. This part of the city was essentially a big marketplace, full of people coming in from the countryside peddling their wares. Some ill-mannered old lady stepped on my foot and yelled at me, and I cowered away. I needed to get past here. The harbor was still a ways off, past the factory district—as I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, I could see the distant billows of smoke coming from the towering black smokestacks.

“Newspaper?” A cheerful man offered, thrusting a paper in my face. Irritated, I batted it away. I wasn’t used to people being so forward with me. I was a princess, I needed to be treated with dignity and respect!

However, my eyes caught the headline, and I nearly fell over myself snatching it out of his hands. “Give me that!”

The black bold print spelled **ARMY DESTABILIZED , TROOPS RETURNING HOME UNDER COMMAND OF GENERAL WIEKENS, COLONEL MACDUFF.**

I stared, breathless, at the photograph on the front page It had been taken somewhere in the north judging by the frozen ground and the tall tips of pine trees in the distance. It was of an older man, gruff-looking with a wispy beard, standing amidst a group of soldiers. Beside him was the familiar tall, dark-haired figure of Gruoch, her hands behind her back.

She was dressed in a military green coat and pants, her long dark hair tumbling from beneath her colonel’s cap. How odd. She never let her hair down. She always had it pinned up. She was looking at the ground, not the camera, her expression unreadable.

“Excuse me, miss, are you going to buy that?”

I started and folded it over, then handed it back. “No…sorry, I don’t have any money.”

He snorted and turned to the next customer. I continued on my way hesitantly, mind whirling with the new information.

So much for Gruoch’s excuses. All her proclamations that she did it all for me came to nothing. She was a part of the regime now, totally and utterly.

Bitterness swamped my heart. She had been lying this whole time. She had sold us out for a chance at being a higher-up in the new Rhosgalle. Gruoch, who I’d known since I was a little girl…

Tears beaded in my eyes, and I angrily wiped them away. The feeling of betrayal made my throat tighten. All this for nothing. _Nothing._

I shook my head. I needed to focus on the matter at hand. I would have plenty of time to cry when I landed in Bharata, and was safely in Kashlani’s arms.

“Pardon me, miss!”

I looked up in surprise, and flinched when a young girl pressed her face right up close. “Miss, Miss! You look just like the Princess!”

I stopped and stared in astonishment. A gap-toothed young girl was bouncing in front of me, holding the hand of her toddler sister. “Look, sis! Isn’t she pretty!”

Sudden panic overcame me in a wave of fear. I dashed backwards, then half-turned, bumping into a tall matron with a basket in her arms. “Watch where you’re going!” she hissed at me. I flinched and backed away.

Despite the chill winter morning, I felt sweat seep into the neckline of my dress. Here I was, in broad daylight, walking among the populace. The disgraced Princess, whom people were most certainly searching for.

I made my way to the shade of the eaves that lined the square, and pressed myself against the wall of a storefront. The crowd bustled on, oblivious.

Nervousness awoke inside me. Surely by now they would have put out a search? Shut down streets, printed fliers?

From what I had seen, Schizl’s new regime had seemed fairly efficient. She had soup kitchens in the street, a propaganda room set up, and even most of the capital—save for the noble’s district—was running fairly well. Why wouldn’t she have sent out an announcement to the people of the capital? They knew what I looked like. There was barely a day when my face wasn’t in the newspapers.

Just what was going on?

***

My belly had begun to cramp up again by the time I reached the factory district. I sat down on a metal bench to catch my breath and watched the factory workers cart refuse away from the city center.

Heat was beginning to spike across my skin, coming in waves that overwhelmed me then faded away. I didn’t know how much was from withdrawals or the stress of running across an entire city with little food. _I just have to make it to a ship,_ I told myself. _Stow away and find my way back to Kashlani._

I forced myself to my feet again, my legs erupting in agony as I put weight on them again.

Keeping one hand on the soot-covered wall of the nearest building, I made my way down the sidewalk. I could feel the waxy residue coat my fingers, and shuddered in disgust.

“Are you lost, lady?” Asked a man wearing suspenders, who was strapping a feed-bag onto a horse. He looked at me questioningly as I staggered down the street.

“No,” I said, waiting until he was out of earshot to let out a breathy gasp. I edged along the filthy sides o the buildings, avoiding the hooves of horses and the heavy boots of workers. The air was thick with smoke and coal dust, and I coughed and hacked the farther I got. How could these workers stand it, every day?

I crouched against the wall as a blast of hot air and dust erupted from a forge opposite me. I coughed wildly and batted at the air, smoke infiltrating my lungs.

Just a little longer. Just a little longer and I’ll be at the harbor. My freedom was so close. So close I could taste it.

Shielding my face with my baggy sleeve, I pressed on grimly, dodging workers and horses, keeping to the side of the street as I made my way across the district. I collapsed a few times, and people gave me cursory glances, as if it happened often. Soon I was so covered with soot and grime people didn’t even bother asking if I was lost—I looked so much like them.

When the air began to thin, I sucked in breath after breath of sweet air. I forced my trembling legs to move, one step after another, until the fresh breeze of the harbor wafted into the street.

The clear calls of seagulls echoed above me, and I looked up to see black-winged seagulls dive and pester each other, soaring freely through the blue sky. I nearly wept, my knees like jelly, as a blue sliver of sea came into focus.

I must have been a sight—too-large dress, face dirty with soot, stumbling on legs to weak to hold me—but right now, I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting on a boat out of here.

The free sea stretched for miles before me. As I reached its sight, I felt like my whole body had collapsed in on itself, and I fell onto my knees, clutching my frail body tight. For a while I couldn’t move, then my ruined body began to stumble forward, slow then faster, in search for safety.

I stopped when I saw blue-uniformed men and women standing before each boat, discompassionately checking each passport before sending them on their way. Some people who didn’t have any identification were turned away coldly, despite their pleadings.

I stayed where I was, by a hulking building, watching despondent men and women return to the city without their passports. My lips were dry as they left, one after another, heads bowed and spirits beaten down.

I cast a desperate glance at the lines of people, at the barrier of guards blocking the harbor. I couldn’t get past them. I knew that immediately.

My legs began to buckle under the weight of the revelation. I couldn’t escape through the harbor. All my efforts were for nothing.

“Hey, girl! Move, will you? I have places to go!”

I moved to the side as a large family barged past me. Bracing myself against the wall, I watched as they made their way down the docks.

They were checking identification. I had none. They had every single boat secured. I couldn’t get on one of them. Even the shipboats docked had a squadron of soldiers of minding them.

My breath came in short. Now what could I do? My frenzied eyes looked toward the distant cityscape, towering gray buildings jutting against the blue sky.

I supposed I would… I would have to escape through the forest…


	31. Chapter 31

The sun traveled from the far horizon, to the middle of the sky. The frigid chilliness waned as it got brighter, the snow melting on the slick pavement and puddling in muddy pools of water on the street.

I leaned against a signpost, my breaths harsh and ragged. I could feel my entire body tremble from the inside, radiating pinpricks of pain down my legs and to the very tips of my fingers.

Someone brushed past me, nearly sending me tumbling to the ground. I righted myself and put my hands on my knees, tilting my head down and taking deep breaths. The ground spun.

“Soup line next street over!” Called someone, and I looked up hopefully. Maybe some food would make me feel better…

Almost as soon as the idea entered my mind, I forced myself to dismiss it. No. I couldn’t risk being seen by members of Schizl’s army. I dragged my body down the street and took a right, forcing myself to ignore the scent of onion and meat drifting from the next street down.

My body felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Every step I took felt like I was pulling a heavy cart behind me. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, then forced myself to move on.

I stole a pie that was cooling on someone’s window and ate it with my hands in an alleyway. It was humiliating, eating stolen food with my fingers in a dirty alley. Me, a Princess. I had drunk from crystal goblets. I had eaten with silver forks, from the finest china.

Even though tears streamed down my cheeks, I kept shoveling food into my mouth.

Street after street, alley after alley, through the heart of the city and then some. I made myself put one leg in front of the other, knees ready to give out.

The sun traveled from its home in the middle of the sky, far to the edge of the sky. The sky deepened to a deep blue, the air turned chill. The coldness bit into my bones. It soon became impossible to keep walking.

I was in a poor district. I could see that it was being renovated; some new buildings demolished and the skeletons of new ones built above them. I collapsed in the doorwell of a dark and empty building.

It was a warmer night than last, thankfully. I huddled in a ball, my head resting against the hard concrete door frame. The sun had completely disappeared by now. Light stars twinkled in the darkening sky.

My eyes drooped. My thoughts turned idly. Scenarios drifted in and out of my mind.

After I left through the forest, I could find a peasant family. They would take me to the next town, hopefully on the coast. I could stow away there, on a boat to a larger city. And from there, to Bharata.

And then…I would be with Kashlani again.

We could live together, in the royal palace, with Aspalis and her family, and be together, and run and laugh in the gardens, and make love with each other through the night, and attend dances and balls, and go on rides through the capital, laughing with our hair streaming behind us…

But I would never be able to do that again.

The vicious, cynical voice overcame me. Those hopes were a wistful snapshot, nothing more than a fantasy. I could never be a careless young woman again. Not after this.

When I touched Kashlani, Schizl’s fingers would force themselves deep inside of me, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of me. She would finger me as my own mother, my brothers and sister my own family, were executed. And Kashlani’s concerned face would hover over me always, asking what was wrong.

I lowered my head. I wanted to cry. Hot tears welled in my eyes. But what good would it do?

Tears wouldn’t bring back my family. Tears wouldn’t rush me into Kashlani’s arms. Tears wouldn’t defeat Schizl Kierviste.

Schizl Kierviste…that strange, brutal woman. Just who was she? She hated me, I knew that much. She hated me for what I was. But mixed in with the hate was a strange obsession, an desire to hurt coupled with extreme infatuation that was almost love. The time when she had offered me the chance to become Queen, she was almost…weak. Desperate.

It didn’t make any sense. What did the brooch mean? Was I supposed to have seen her before? I had no memory of the petite blonde peasant. What did it all mean?

I tilted my head upward, staring at the white-bright light of the streetlamp directly over me. Moths that hadn’t been scared by the cold buzzed around, smacking uselessly against the glass.

Pain tore my belly, shredding my insides as I bent over with a whimper. My head was hot, like a fire was burning underneath my skin, radiating heat from my flushed face.

It was getting worse. I needed to get out of here. More than that, I needed laudanum.

The sudden thought, the imagined sensation of the perfumed liquid sliding down my throat, made me let out my breath in a shaky sigh. Yes. That was the ambrosia that would make me capable again. It would drive me from here to the city limits, I was sure of it.

I stood up, too quick because my head spun. I leaned against the wooden door, eyes closed, trying to steady myself. When I was sure I could walk, I stepped down the stairs and set off down the street.

I needed to get to a drugstore. Most Rhosgallish pharmacists sold laudanum. And I needed money, but I would worry about that later.

Every step I took made pain radiate from my kneecap upward. I had to stop every few steps, breathing heavily, and put my hand on the wall for support.

Most shops were closed, but I knew pharmacists often stayed open at night to sell under-the-table. I had heard Mother grumbling about sanctions, but there was no way to enforce them with so many pharmacists doing it.

I found one on a street corner a block away from where I had been resting. It had taken me nearly half an hour to walk there, and by then I was ready to collapse. The need for drugs was consuming me, burning away all other thoughts. The night air swam in front of my eyes, thick stripes of blurriness. When I pushed the door in, I nearly stumbled onto the ground.

It was more a room than a shop, really, just four blank wooden walls and a counter. Behind the counter I saw a middle-aged man with a five o’clock shadow and bags under his eyes, leaning on his elbows. When he saw me he straightened up. “What can I do for you, missy?” His voice was cracked and hoarse.

I swallowed. “I need laudanum...”

“Laudanum?” he raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you heard? Opiates are banned under the new law. They passed it a couple weeks ago. Have you been living under a rock or something? People were furious.” He coughed and his eyes darted around. “Not that they have a right to be or anything.”

The moment he said banned I felt my body seize up.

I headed for the door. He didn’t call after me. I guessed a lot of people had the same reaction.

I stumbled out into in the snow. The chill breeze froze the outer layer of my skin as I burned up inside. The white city wavered and swirled, a mad painter’s palette.

Fire burned the ends my nerves. I heaved my breaths, forming clouds of mist that evaporated in the chill air.

I closed my eyes and kept taking deep breaths. A sob rose up in my throat, but I fought it down viciously. Breathe, I told myself over and over, until someone shoved past me and I slammed into the pharmacy wall.

I sunk down to my knees, hacking and sobbing. The despair welled inside me until I felt like ripping my hair out. My entire body screamed with pain, from my shoulders to my legs, and even the chill of the snow around my ankles couldn’t keep the heat from smoldering inside me.

Why? Why should she ban laudanum? I lowered my head to grip it in my hands, and that small movement made flares of pain erupt along my neck.

This is just a setback, I told myself. I’ll make it out of here without laudanum. Of course I will

I tried to get to my feet, but my aching joints forced me down again. My knees in the snow, I began to sob again. I tried to put my hand of the wall, but the world began to spin again and I collapsed into the wall.

I couldn’t walk without laudanum. I couldn’t even stand.

How weak I was.

_She reached downward beside the bed and I heard a rustling, then she pressed something cold and glass against my cheek. “Here’s your laudanum, Glaucopis. And if you continue to please me, there shall be much more of that.”_

Schizl’s low voice resonated through my mind.

I had pleasured my rapist, the murderer of my family. I had submitted myself to her, right after witnessing the murder of own flesh and blood.

I had always been weak. Ever since I was a child, and suckled laudanum like milk. Ever since I reached adulthood, and shielded myself from my country’s upheavals. Dismissing them like a mildly irritating fly, amusing myself with frivolities and indulgences.

Just a weak fly myself, a simpering socialite whose views extended to what party I would attend, what woman I would fuck. Just an airheaded noblewoman, drinking champagne from crystal glasses, making love on velvet-canopied beds. Completely ignorant to the sufferings of my people.

So removed I might have been a goddess, looking down at my suffering people with benevolent but oblivious eyes.

I had done nothing. I had left nothing. My memory was a wisp on the wind, a dead body in an alley.

The air had gotten colder. I gasped my breaths, my chilled fingertips digging my warm thighs.

The world was muted, the howl of the wind miles away.

I could do nothing, I could change nothing.

Nothing.

I would never make love to Kashlani with carefree joy. I would never listen to my mother give a speech, or embrace Gruoch. I would never leave my worries behind me and run with joyful freedom again.

Nothing would ever be the same.

I realized I had begun to cry hard, hot tears running my cold cheeks. But it seemed so distant.

I was watching a messy-haired young woman cry on the street from up above, tattered dress around her ankles, face red and swollen with tears.

Burning pain consumed my body. I pressed the side of my face against the wall. The stone blocks cooled me for a moment.

Just a moment.

Pain spread across my limbs, digging deep in to my muscles.

I couldn’t even stand. So why even bother trying to escape? I was weak, submissive. I had been all my life.

Why would submitting to Schizl Kierviste be any different?


	32. Chapter 32

I didn’t quite remember how I stumbled into the police station, but I remember the comforting, solid sensation of dry ground beneath my feet, and the warmth that washed over me.

The policewoman’s voice was irritated. “What did you say? Speak clearly.”

I couldn’t see her face, only hear her voice. The lantern on the counter burned bright, the golden flame spiking and wavering, its light filling the room with dazzling light.

When she heard my name, she went silent. I was afraid she would dismiss me as delusional and force me out. How ironic that would be. I had spent so long trying to escape Schizl’s clutches, and when I went back into them voluntarily, I would be turned away.

But instead she stood up abruptly, grabbed my arm, and escorted me into a backroom.

The world was fractured into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, thousands of twinkling blurred shards.

Something cold was clamped around my wrist, and I was shoved backward into a leather seat. Needles of pain erupted inside my head and belly as I was pushed down on a leather seat and cuffed to a wooden bar. The fast movement made a hundred pinpricks of pain erupts behind my eyeballs.

Then footsteps clomped over to the door, and I was alone.

The silence settled over me like a blanket. My loud breaths sounded in the room, harsh rasps like a horse lying dying on a frozen street.

It was bright, too bright. I closed my eyes, trying to block it out, but the whiteness remained, imprinted on the back of my eyelids, sending dull aches into the depths of my brain.

_Focus on the pain._

_Focus on the pain._

I repeated the mantra, over and over, until the words ceased to mean anything and the pain had begun to recede. Then I dug my fingers into my belly, making the cramps blossom into harsh wounds that gaped the inside of my body.

My unclipped fingernails began to bend backwards, digging red crescents into my skin as distant footsteps echoed and I heard the voice of the one woman I hated more than anything in the world.

***

I kept my eyes on my shoes as the door creaked open. Icy, chilling terror welled up inside me, forcing a scream to the top of my throat. I could feel her presence, quiet and calm but clawed and fanged, a massive black beast crouching in the brilliant white room.

My cloth shoes were torn, faded, one with a buckle broken, the heel of the other beginning to unpeel from the rest.

Schizl and said something to the policewoman–the ring of her voice made me flinch. The cold metal was unclasped from my wrists.

I hear soft footsteps forward.

I clenched my eyes shut.

Dainty hands alighted on my shoulders, touch soft as a feather’s brush, urging me to look upward.

I was surprised at her appearance.

She had always been dressed in her military finest when she went to see me. Tight blue pants, shiny leather boots, sharp cap perched on her head.

But now she was dressed like a housewife, in a faded flowered dress that fell to her ankles, her pale blonde hair loose to her shoulders. A few bobby pins tucked into the corner of her forehead kept it out of her eyes. She wore a woolen green shawl over her shoulders, like most lower-class women did when they went out on a cold night. Richer women wore coats fur or finely woven coats.

Her pale skin was flushed rosy from the chill weather. She looked unruffled, even a bit cheerful. When she saw, me her face broke out in a dainty, but slightly restrained smile. As if she was struggling to hide something.

With no words, she urged me to my feet, gentle hands on my shoulders, my waist, and led me out of the room.

The ride in the shiny black car was long and silent. Lights flickered past the window, casting orange shadows on the smooth leather of the seats.

Schizl was smiling peacefully, her hand curled under her chin. Her green eyes reflected the lights that shone through the car windows, bright as a cat’s.

Only the hum of the car’s engine sounded in the silent interior.

Through the thick glass I saw that some people had stopped to stare at the official limousine. A sudden flash of nostalgia took hold of me. _People staring, holding their children above their shoulders to catch sight of me. The Princess Glaucopis._

I saw the scenery changing, from the grit and smoke of the inner city, to the shattered remnants of grand mansions, like eggshells lying broken, from chicks who pecked them to pieces and then flew away without a care in the world.

I had struggled to overcome all of this, to just make it as far as the harbor, the forest. Every step I took away from the palace had been like wading through a mire of swamp and pain. And in the end, it was all for nothing.

***

When we reached the palace, it was deep night. I felt exhaustion almost overwhelm the pain that stabbed through my head as I stepped out of the car. The world swirled and revolved around me. I surely would have fallen had it not been for Schizl’s steady grip on my elbow.

We stepped through the throng of guards, bypassing them silently. I expected her to lead me to the cell that I had spent my last months, but she did not.

She led me down colorless rugs and blank walls, to a bare door. And she opened it.

Behind it was an opulently-decorated room. Rich Eastern carpets lined the floor, silken purple sheets on the bed, and above the bed, a magnificent portrait of one of my distant ancestors. She had thick brunette hair and enchanting dark blue eyes, but Schizl pushed me forward before I could take in any more details. “Remove your clothes.”

I complied silently, peeling off the dirty and shredded nun’s dress and leaving my body naked in her bed. I stared down at my scrawny tan thighs, stained with faded teethmarks and yellow fingerprints.

I heard her dress fall onto the floor. The bed creaked lightly as she got onto her knees. The soft fabric collapsing gently as she crawled onto the bed, her body light on the heavy mattress.

“Glaucopis,” she said, my name lilting and intimate on her tongue. “Do you know how I felt when you disappeared from my side?”

Her face was smooth, perfect in the light of the lanterns that lined the walls.

“I was furious. I was hysterical. I raged, and ranted, and lost control.”

I blinked. I found it hard to believe that a woman such as Schizl would have lost her composure.

But she continued on. “But then I stopped. Do you know why, Princess?”

Her words were breathless. The flames flared, the walls of the room a deep burgundy.

“Because I knew you would come back to me.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting very near the end now...

The final words echoed in the dark room

I stared at her face. I was slack, my limbs not working as she smiled gently.

“So I waited. I laid back and waited. I waited or you to surrender yourself. And oh, you didn’t disappoint me.”

She turned her burning green eyes on me. Her delicate face was a devil’s, an angel of light.

“You panicked without your nectar. You collapsed. And in the end, your addiction was far more important than your family.”

Her eyes burned like those of an adder, green and sickening and poisonous.

“Because you are _weak.”_

My throat burned. I wanted to scream to yell, to refute her words. But my voice stopped in my throat.

She was right.

After I had witnessed the slaughter of my loved ones, after I had seen the blood spurt out of their necks, I had crawled to Schizl Kierviste. I had willingly lapped and laved her.

I was weak.

The words echoed again and again in my mind as I crawled forward to rest my head on her smooth knee. _Weak. Weak. Weak._ That was all I had ever been.

The dumb mantra repeated in my mind as I lowered my head to her knee. She reached out and skimmed a hand over my back, her touch like the skittering of a spider. “Why don’t you pleasure me a little, Glaucopis. Make me feel good, as appreciation for spending so much time on you.”

Mind blank, I reached up her skirt, until my fingertips brushed her knickers, then I dragged them down to her ankles. She kicked them off offhandedly before gripping my hair and shoving my face forward.

It wasn’t so bad the next time.

What hurt was the knowledge that I would have to do it again, and again, and again—

Schizl let out a breathy moan, her hand still fisted in my hair. “This is what you deserve, Glaucopis. Your penance for hundreds of years of brutal rule, of oppression—all the famines, the wars, the rape, everything you have inflicted on us.”

I remembered my mother sitting at the table, speaking derisively about the raucous peasants daring to riot for bread during the Great Famine. I remembered the dirty, thin faces of the factory children when I drove past the working district of town. The rumors of raped and murdered country women by the royal army.

The opulent parties, even in the dead of winter, glittering chandeliers and rich overflowing food, succulent cutlets of beef and pure champagne as my subjects starved to death outside the palace walls.

And how happy the people had been, once I had escaped and walked the streets. Their clear joy at having plentiful food and services. How relieved they were.

Maybe…

Maybe she was right.

I did deserve this. All of this.

I kissed her, pursing my lips and licking deep into her body as she spasmed and shrilled. Her tight pink pussy lips sealed to my cheeks as I licked and laved at her. Her slender back arched at my ministrations.

My nipples brushed against the silk of the bedsheets, stimulating them. Her pale thighs were spread, her face flushed and delighted as I numbly licked deeper.

Her green eyes were dark and unreadable as I gazed at her. She was a goddess above me, a hero, a savior of her people.

I closed my eyes, licking deeper. Her numerous folds pressed against my pink lips as I stimulated them with my skillful tongue.

Perhaps this was my penance.

“Your coronation will be this Saturday,” she whispered into my ears, her voice a breathy caress. “You are the heir to the throne of Vallerand. To the throne of Rhosgalle. You shall abdicate to us… give us the power to the country… bow down to us and give to us the rule…my sweet Glaucopis…”

I heard the clink of a bottle, and the smell of sweet laudanum filled my senses.

I reverently licked her soft pink folds, stimulating the nub of flesh. She arched her back, making her small breasts jut out, nipples dark and full. My lower jaw dug into her cunt, imprinting the fair skin with pits of bruised flesh. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she dug her fingernails into my head and pushed me further.

“You have failed. My dear Princess…my love…my only, my love…my sweet…Glaucopis..!”

I swallowed thickly, the sour taste lingering in my throat. My gaze was blurring in front of my eyes, becoming a vortex of white and blonde and red. I pressed the tip of my nose into her clit, delving deeper into her body with my tongue. The soft walls clenched around the dexterous muscle, spasming with pleasure as my tongue arched and touched a special spot.

A finger, damp with opium crept over my back to delve between my legs. I felt it shoved inside me, scraping my dry walls, pressing the damp drug to be absorbed deep inside me.

“I love you…!”

Through the blurred fog of the room, I saw twin leaves, floating in the clear summer air.

_Drifting through the air, they swirled away into the forest. I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, watching the bright green leaves rustle in the summer wind._

_They were almost as bright as the eyes of the maiden in front of me._

_Enchanting, jade-green eyes, the color of the deep forest, framed by long light eyelashes. A shy demeanor, the basket self-consciously held in front of her, over her red plaid dress and white apron._

_“W-Would you like to buy some of my wares?” Her voice was as soft and stuttering as I imagined it to be._

Her creamy thighs embraced my head as she lay back on the pillows, head thrown back in ecstasy. In the haze of pain and heat, I blinked, a fleeting memory surfacing.

“Peasant girl…”

“Keep licking, Glaucopis,” she said viciously, digging her heel into my breast. As agony erupted over my chest, a scene flitted to mind.

_“I would love to,” I smiled, observing her tenderly. What a beautiful girl. So pure and shy. I just wanted to take her in my arms and kiss all of her shyness away._

_I reached out and took a ripe red apple from her basket, brimming with fruit. But then I paused._

_“I’m sorry…but I have no way to pay you for this. I have no money right now…”_

_“No, but it is my pleasure. To be able to serve the Royal Princess. It’s what I always dreamed of…”_

_The blonde maiden’s cheeks blushed red and she looked away. Her pale blonde hair was conservatively gathered into a bun on the back of her head, but strands were coming loose from the bright red scarf that she had tied under her chin._

_I frowned. It was wrong to take money from people who couldn’t pay it back…surely she was very poor, being a peasant.._

_I reached for my bosom, and plucked the brooch I was wearing from it. It was one of many, but it was solid gold, and it could surely be of use to this peasant girl’s family._

_“Here.”_

_I pinned it on the girl’s ratty dress, just above her breast._

_“It looks much prettier on you.”_

My elbows trembled, finally giving out.

The heat and pain that had been lurking on the insides of my conscience had broken in

I collapsed into her, onto her, my soft cheeks pressing onto her mound of Venus, providing one last climax to her I fell unconscious.

But inside my mind, I saw the silhouette of a beautiful peasant, lingering above me.


	34. Interlude 3

Schizl Kierviste's first memory was of her father. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick fuzzy beard and laughing eyes. When she was a small girl, she would wait at the doorstep of her cottage and wave goodbye to him as he drove the sheep up the grassy slopes.

When she was older, a gangly girl of nine, she made her first trip up the mountain with her father. In her red scarf and puffy lace dress, she chased sheep and led lambs away from cliffsides. Her days were filled with vast blue skies and the booming laughter of her father.

The first day that she herded the sheep by herself was one that would forever stay in her memory. She had been dreading it for weeks, lying awake in the bed she shared with her two sisters, listening to her baby brother bawling as she lay awake. _What if a wolf attacked the herd and she couldn’t get Papa’s shotgun to work? What if a sheep jumped off a cliff and the whole herd followed it?_

Schizl had always been cold—unforthcoming, her mother had said—but her reprehension was so clear her mother had taken her in her arms the morning she left. Schizl remembered the warmth of her embrace hazily, as through a veil of rain. In the years afterwards, she remembered it often as she lay shivering on a factory floor, or hiding from gunfire behind a building.

The next day, Schizl drove the herd up the mountainside. Staring over cliffs, the small blonde girl pulled her scarf over her pale shoulders, watching the fluffy clouds battle each other like a flock of heavenly sheep. Lying on the wildflowers, she ate apples and gazed at her herd as the lambs frolicked. Her heart eased in the summer sunshine. _Won’t father be proud of me?_ she thought, allowing herself a rare feeling of accomplishment.

Eventually, she noticed a column of smoke billowing behind a low peak, right where she had driven the herd up. Her crook nestled in the nook of her arm, Schizl ran back the way she came, not bothering with her bleating herd, until she reached the top of the hill and looked down at the devastation of her village.

The old white cathedral was lying in ruins, the roofs in shambles and lit afire. The thatched huts of her village were caved in, and small dark figures littered the cobblestone road like dead birds.

By the time Schizl ran down to her house, her legs were stained with mud and her breaths were coming in heavy and sobbing. Her house was already in flames. A solitary bloody arm lay halfway past the doorway flames licking up its side, and she recognized the blunted fingernails of her father.

She screamed his name as the roof crashed in. Above the crackling of flames, she thought she could hear the distant cry of a baby.

Numb and unable to process what she was seeing, she turned and walked along the cobblestone street. Bodies littered the ground. She passed the baker who made bread bunnies for her little brothers, past the priest who had baptized her, past her own grandmother whose head was split open like a rotten egg, her brains baking in the sun. Schizl’s dull green eyes beheld it all, and all of it, every body and drop of blood, imprinted itself into her mind.

Eventually, she joined with the scattered survivors hiding in the forest. There were only a few, dead-eyed and wary, and by scattered mutterings, she learned what had happened. The cathedral had been sheltering a dissident, and when they refused to give him up, a battalion of soldiers had been sent to make an example of them.

“Fuck the army! Fuck the royal family!” screamed someone wildly. He was shushed immediately and fearfully, but the young girl on the fringes of the crowd internalized his words, staring at him with her blank green eyes.

***

Like a fairy tale, Schizl walked through the forest, a basket of red apples crooked in her arm.

Down the red and green path, strewn with crimson, sunshine yellow, and verdant leaves. The hem of her dress brushed the ground, her worn leather shoes trodding lightly over the fallen leaves.

Schizl Kierviste was a young woman now, blossoming and beautiful with the rural beauty of her mountainside home. But she had left her home years before and never gone back. She had joined a small group whose anti-monarchist mutterings attracted the attention of the police. She had given speeches, she had converted men, women and children, and she had aimed the gun at a weeping captive’s head and pulled the trigger.

She learned to replace her coldness with a bright smile.

Blonde hair loose about her shoulders and a shawl tucked under her chin, Schizl looked as innocent as could be, and that was why she was chosen. The group had swelled in size with dissidents of the regime, as more and more people’s homes were torched, more people were arrested and executed without a trial, and the press restrictions choked the protestors. They were small, but they were growing. They called themselves Revolutionaries, after their brothers in Vardany.

Schizl had seen the royal family once. She had been butted in the stomach by a bayonet as they passed through the streets. The arrogant queen’s face had been turned ahead on her carriage, blithely ignoring her, and her vile brood had squealed and giggled behind her. Smug, spoiled and cruel, they had been born into the lap of luxury. They stole, killed, burned and tormented without a care. The nobles—the betters—and _them,_ the commoners, who meant so much less because they were born in a cottage instead of a jewel-encrusted palace.

They took and they took and they _took_. Just as they took the lives of her family, of her village, of so many of her comrades over the years.

Schizl’s basket was covered by a checked cloth, under which was a mound of ripe, rose apples, all filled with a deadly poison. Poisoned apples, like a fairy tale.

The murder of a member of the Royal Family would certainly cause a ruckus, even one as unimportant as the third daughter. The Revolution was growing. And they would not rest until every member of the royal family was in the grave.

Schizl heard the distant giggles of the young princess. A young woman was standing in the road, watching another figure dart into the trees. “I’ll find you, Kasha!” teased the woman in a laughing voice.

When the young woman turned around, a breeze ruffled her hair. With her blue dress billowing around her ankles, she seemed like a goddess in her jewel-encrusted bodice and sweeping gown. Schizl could see the hallmarks of both her parents. Her skin was olive in the bright sunshine, and her golden-brown hair fell past her waist and over her bare shoulders. When her ocean-blue eyes found Schizl, she found herself unwillingly falling into them.

“W-would you like to buy some of my wares?” Schizl stuttered, her face a mask of puppy worship and shyness. Coldly, she observed her movements.

The princess joined her hands behind her back and stepped forward. When she smiled, it was brighter than the sun and made Schizl’s throat tighten. “I would love to.”

Schizl smiled childishly, lifting her basket to her bosom and plucking the quilt away. The princess reached out and cupped an apple in her soft hand. Then she paused.

“I’m sorry…but I have no way to pay you for this. I have no money right now…”

Her words startled Schizl. The royal family _took_ , all they did was _take_. They were selfish despots who ruled an iron fist. They killed villages, they tortured protestors to death, they sent civilians to die en masse in useless wars. Why was one so concerned about taking without paying when that was all they did?

“No, but it is my pleasure. To be able to serve the Royal Princess. It’s what I always dreamed of…” Schizl affected a blush and looked at the ground, but she did not need to fake the sickening pounding of her heart.

As Glaucopis Vallerand weighed the apple in her hand, her eyelashes swept down and sunlight glittered through her hair. Her small nose crinkled as she frowned.

Then she plucked the golden brooch from her breast and pinned it to Schizl’s tattered dress. “Here. It looks much prettier on you.”

An apple cost less than a single copper coin. The princess’s jewelry was valuable beyond compare, and _yet._

The perfect selflessness, so blithe and innocent, the sparkle of blue eyes as she stared into Schizl’s, everything made her heart drop like a stone.

All the royals did was _take, and take, and take._

But Glaucopis _gave,_ and gave willingly and generously, not because cameras were trained on her, but because she simply wanted to.

The conflicting view of the despised nobles Schizl had all her life, and what was staring her in the face right now, was more than she could comprehend.

“No,” she said sharply as the princess lifted the apple to her mouth. Schizl snatched it away and began running down the road, indignant squeals echoing behind her. When she had run far enough, she knelt down by an oak tree under its branches, gasping, her heart beating like a rabbit’s. Apples tumbled to the ground as her basket tipped over.

All her mind was filled with was the visage of the princess, gay and beautiful without a care, staring at Schizl like she was the most precious thing in the world. Her eyes as blue as the mountain skies she had watched as a child.

It was a long time before Schizl realized she had fallen in love.

***

Commander Kierviste walked down the hall with a jump in her step, her leather boots creaking over the bare floor. When she saw her second-in-command, he jumped into a salute. “Commander!”

“At ease, Anatoly. Please alert the press that the princess had agreed to be crowned queen. The coronation will happen tomorrow.”

Anatoly nearly broke into a smile. “Please, if you may accept my congratulations, do so. Our nation is safe.”

“It is,” said Schizl. “Our republic will survive, and eventually, country after country will fall to the people. This in a day that will be written about in history books. The day the corrupt noble class fell to the righteous will of the citizens.”

Anatoly saluted once more. Schizl walked on, past the blank walls that would soon be covered with posters and paintings of the glorious revolution. She slid her hand into her pocket and fingered the tarnished metal of the brooch.

_And you, Glaucopis._

_You and I, forever._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing’s got a lot wordier since last update, but there’s only 2 chapters left anyway.


	35. Chapter 35

* * *

I woke up.

My eyes saw clear, clearer than they had been for a long time. I stared at the planks of the ceiling, memorizing every whorl and crease. My body was floating in such peace. The simple absence of pain felt more heavenly than anything I had felt in my entire life

But I knew I would require the liquid every day. The sweet nectar had enslaved me since childhood, forced me to pleasure the woman I hated most in the world. Schizl Kieviste had smiled, she had calculated, and she had seen each weakness of my body. And now I was her possession.

The revelation came gently. I had seen it in my future, but had persisted in fighting it. I now realized now how fruitless that had been.

I arched my fingers inward, feeling pleasant heat spark the fingertips.

The door swung open. Sister Maria Benedetta, flanked by two guards, stood there. “We are here to prepare you for the coronation.”

I went with them, legs weak and trembling but holding my weight, thin as I had become. I wondered what my face on the newspapers were. Was I a virtuous princess? I had been a darling of the people once. Or was I a sinner who had seen the light? Each way, I was a puppet.

My mother had looked down on me once as an afterthought, the youngest child, the disposable one. Now I stood to inherit the crown on her bloodstained ground. It was almost laughable.

The bathroom had belonged to her—my mother, Ystele de Vallerand—for a long time. Now I suppose it belonged to me. They escorted me in and left, closing the door behind them. “Tidy yourself up,” Sister Maria Benedetta told be stiffly before she left. “You’ll be appearing in public.”

 _The coronation._  I took off my shift and turned the bath faucet on.

The clear warm water streamed over the tiles. My face wavered in the rippled in the reflection. There was a time, not so long ago, that I would have seen a reflection beside me, a dark-haired one with an impish smile, her arms wrapped around my shoulders or nestled in my lap.

The impression of warmth was so fleeting, and then the cold bathroom air replaced it. After my coronation, I would certainly see Kasha again. Opposite a debate table, or footage of her wedding, or her body hanging lifelessly from a noose as the Rhosgallish soldiers flooded Bharata.

I scrubbed my skin clean. The bruises on my throat, thighs and the nook of my elbows had faded to a pale yellow. I hoped the dress Schizl chose for me would cover it, but I didn’t hold any expectations. If I knew anything about, she liked to show me off. I would probably be “shown off” for the rest of my life.

_But it’s not like you were so modest before, was it?_

I held my breath and submerged myself. For a moment, the numbness and oblivion surrounded me, dulling my eyes and ears. My hair drifting like seaweed, I stayed under until my mind began to spiral into darkness.

A hand dug into my scalp and pulled me out. I gasped for air as she jerked my head back. “I certainly hope you weren’t trying to drown yourself, Princess. Your life belongs to me, you should know that now.”

My bleary eyes fixed on a delicate, pale face, wavering before mine. Schizl Kierviste was squatting next my bathtub, wearing a dark green military uniform. The medals were polished, and her white-gold hair was carefully braided back. She was clearly ready for a public event.

“You had better start being more obedient, Your Highness. Even if your family is gone, there is still your sister and brother, and that little foreign slut you degraded yourself with.”

She shoved my head under the water. My hands went up to pull her hands away, but my arms were weak from a lifetime that lacked hard labor, and her forearms were surprisingly muscled under her slender arms.

I had just began to scream underwater when she pulled me up. “Do you understand? I want your total cooperation in the coronation.”

Perspiration dripped off her long, light eyelashes. Her eyes were as green as a flame, but blank in the darkness of her pupils.

I nodded silently, body heaving with sobs. Her gloves submerged themselves it the water, digging between my legs. She twisted her fingers inside me, making harsh, stabbing pain erupt inside me.

“Do you understand?”

I was crying already, but my crying got harder as I realized that this was what the rest of my life would be like. “Where was the girl you were, Schizl? I saw you then. Your eyes were so bright, Iike you were teetering on the brink, like there was a chance you could have become another person. What happened to you? When I saw you by the Summer Palace, you were so beautiful. Now you’re so cruel. _What happened to you?”_

She pulled my head into her chest. Dampness soaked into the fabric as she cradled my head to her chest. I could feel the small bumps of her breasts under my head. Her voice was raw. “You happened, Glaucopis. _You_ happened. You put these feelings in me and I never rid myself of them.”

She nestled her face in my wet hair. “Clean up, my love. And learn to put a smile on that face. You’ll be seeing your siblings and your foreign princess soon. And you’d better keep that smile on your face, even if they are executed. We’re mobilizing our tanks and dreadnoughts. Oh, you’ll see us become an empire. The empire your mother always lusted for. The Rhosgallish Empire.” She kissed Glaucopis harshly, her tongue pressing brutally against hers. “And you’ll be queen. You’ll be on the coins. _Queen Glaucopis Ephrosina de Vallerand.”_

 _Queen Glaucopis._ The most powerful figure in the world, and yet a slave behind closed doors.

“Clean up and put on your dress. I want you to be immaculate. The most beautiful figurehead in the world.” She separated from me. At the doorway, she looked back.

Even with the picture of her I had in my head, the way she smiled at me was like a young girl. “This is the dawn of a new age, Your Highness.”

The snap of the door shutting echoed in my ears.

I watched the blank planks of the door for a long time. I thought of the posters on the walls outside, of the young blonde woman looking towards the sunset, the red and white stark against the peeling walls. A herald of a new age.

I got out and dried myself with a towel. My makeup was carefully arranged on the bathroom counter, and I delicately applied eyeshadow, rouge, lipstick. I darkened my eyelashes, combed my hair out to my waist, like I was readying myself for a ball. I had done it many times before. There was one solitary piece of jewelry for me, a blue sapphire on a gold chain. I hung it around my neck, and it nestled between my breasts with a hint of cold.

When I was done, I stood bare against the mirror. Save for the thinness around my belly and arms, I looked like I was ready for a normal event, a dance or celebration, one where I would cake myself in makeup and wear a showy dress to net lovers and where Kasha would scold me for dressing like a whore. And I would laugh and hook my arms over her neck and kiss her neck and we would spend so much time together, the party would be almost over by the time we came out.

Kashlani.

Princess Kashlani.

Kashlani of Bharata, Kashlani daughter of Rani Lalitha.

But I only knew her as Kasha. Kasha who had played marbles with me, rode horses with me, played hide and seek with me, did my makeup and hid with me under the covers when the lights were out.

I realized I was crying. I carefully spotted the liquid away so it wouldn’t smear my eyeshadow.

My mother, my brothers, my sisters, my lovers and friends, all were gone. And they would never come back. I would never run through the halls, laugh and make love, hug Ianthos, or pester Gru, or watch my Mother sweep past me with my father.

There was a razor on the soap dish. I carefully shaved my arms and my mound of venus. When I shaved my legs, I nicked myself. I stared at the trickle of blood running down my leg, vivid scarlet against my skin.

The thin sliver of metal glinted in my hands. A dark droplet of blood ran down its edge.

I raised it to my swollen, bloodshot labia. I paused a bit before I put it in me. Some distant, cowardly part of me was afraid of the pain. But then I told myself, _whatever pain had I caused was nothing compared to this._

Then I shoved the razor in me.

The pain made a scream well up in me, and it took all of my self-control to restrain it. It burst against my eyelids, beat against my chest, shredded my vocal cords, but I didn’t open my mouth.

In the haze of red and pain, I saw my fingers, stained with blood, as they pressed further inside me.

The sharp edges dug channels in my inner walls, making blood stream out of my body. I pushed it in as far as it would go, until I felt it nick something in me that only the fingers of my lovers had reached.

I tilted my head back, eyes rolling and mind on fire, until the pain faded into something I could withstand. Then I stood, and the pain jabbed me again.

I collapsed, belly convulsing, and scraped the pale tiles with my fingernails while my other hand covered my mouth.

My scream pummeled my throat, fighting to be let out. Tears streamed down my cheeks. _It hurt it hurt it hurt—_

Eventually I sat up, sniffling, dabbed the blood with a towel, and did the rest of my makeup. I looked over to the dress Schizl left for me.

It was dark purple, the color of royalty. The hem was several inches too high for a public event. It was velvet, the petals of the dress flaring out. The corset hugged my tight waist, and the neckline was too low. But Schizl, she liked to show me off, didn’t she?

Schizl, with her green eyes and blonde hair and unfathomable expression. I saw her as through a camera lens, removed from me. I wondered if there were any a time where I would understand her.

 _No,_ I thought distantly, as I adjusted my shoulder straps and the sharpness of the razor dug into my vagina. _There probably wasn’t._

I knocked shyly and opened the door. Maria Benedetta was there, glasses and severe expression on her face. “Are you done?”

“No. Not yet.” I swallowed with some difficulty. “Sister Maria, would you hear my confession? After so long, and so many sins, I want to cleanse myself. Please. Just before the coronation.”

She looked down the empty hallway and her mouth became a severe line. I could hear distant cheers. There was only her and me. “Very briefly.”

I didn’t know why she was so merciful, but I blessed her in my mind. I shut the door after. Dressed in my ostentatious purple dress, I sat on the bathroom tiles with my back to her.

I had heard these words often, muttered by my father, although I had not spoken them in years. “Father bless me, for I have sinned.”

Although Maria Benedetta was a Sister, the broadness and warmth of her back made me think of a Father. I closed my eyes.

“I have ignored my country, I let them sink into poverty without nary a worry. I have celebrated without caring a bit about the commoners. I am a despot, I am a…” I choked up. “I cared not about the citizens I was supposed to love for before anyone else. My mother did, though she did it cruelly. But I…”

I bent my head. “I never even bothered myself with them.” Gru and Kashlani had danced with me through the years, eager to please, eager to distract me from the degrading state of the country. I was nothing but an oblivious slut. All I could think of was the next finger or tongue in my cunt. A whore who cared for no one but herself.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to be an icon. I wanted to be a movie star. I flaunted myself. I ached for infamy. Now I see how toxic it was. Now I see the mistakes I made. And I’m so—I’m so sorry for them, even if it is too late. I wish I could take an hourglass and turn it upside down, and send me back to all those months ago. I’d do things differently; I’d talk to the presses. I’d stop showing off my body and hurting Kashlani. I’d argue harder with my mother, come out in opposition to the war— maybe I could even change the way Schizl thought.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “But I never did any of those things. And because of that, people suffered. My parents. Ianthos. Rosendo. Sylviane. Kasha. I’m sorry for all these things. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Maria Benedetta said nothing.

“Please forgive me, Father, for what I’ve done.” _And what I’m going to do._ “I will redeem myself in my eyes, but I only hope the Lord will let me be redeemed in his. Will you accept my confession?”

Something warm slid over my hand. I realized it was Maria Benedetta’s hand. “You are forgiven.” Her voice seemed warmer, more tentative then I had ever heard. With those words, I felt like I was washed with cleansing water. _Is this how Father felt when he had confession?_

Outside the bathroom, Maria Benedetta made the sign of a cross over her habit, and over my chest. Her gray eyes were soft. “Go with God.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you, Sister.”

Two soldiers escorted me down the hall, down the bare walls, past the peeling posters and the stripped floor. The cracked and smashed marble of the floor clicked under my heels. Their arms dug hard onto mine, jerking me roughly down the staircase. The pain inside me became greater and greater as my insides were sliced and shredded apart, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. Tears beaded inside my eyes, threatening to streak purple down my cheeks, but I closed them tightly as my heels echoed on the floor.

I knew where we were going now. The front doors of the Palace, for my coronation. I could hear muted cheering beyond the massive double doors. Although at one time they had been large and ornate, the doors were now stripped of decoration, of velvet and gold latticing, and were simply wooden and barred. Cavities in the wood stared blankly at her, where gems had been carved out with the tip of a knife.

The soldiers guarding the door were talking to a woman with an opulent uniform, medals studding her chest and knee-high boots polished to perfection. She wore a black commander’s cap and leather gloves, and when she turned to me, her green eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You look lovely, Your Highness.”

The way she mockingly purred those words made me clench my legs together, forcing another stab of pain deep in my body. She stepped forward and cupped my chin in her leather-gloved hand, sliding it down my skin to trail a finger over my exposed chest.

I heard a soldier chuckle. I closed my eyes as she ran her finger down past my waist to linger between my legs. “Why so bashful? You’ve shown yourself to be quite the exhibitionist in polite company.”

I heard a soldier say something to the other in a derogatory tone. The shame was so great it pierced harder than the blade inside my body.

I didn’t realize I was crying until she rubbed her thumb over my cheek. “Enough tears. This is a happy day. A celebration.”

I heard a soldier mutter “whore queen” and Schizl turned around, eyes blazing. _“You have just earned yourself a month of solitary confinement,_ Pieter. Nobody insults the queen like this in front of me. Hilde, Nicolae, take him away.”

As the protesting man was escorted away by his compatriots, she turned her venom-green eyes back to me. “Are you ready, my love?”

Eyes on hers, I nodded slowly. For a moment I was standing in a leaf-swept road, and a beautiful peasant girl was in front of me. Her eyes were softer than the green on the trees. Then her face hardened, her eyes blazed, her hair was concealed beneath a black cap and her shoulders were covered by a stiff uniform.

Schizl broke out into a smile. “Then let’s go.”

She pushed the door open, and we were flooded with light.

***

There was a wooden platform built on the lawn of the Royal Palace, draped with green and hung with flags that showed streaks of red, blue and gold. The gardens were gone, trampled flat by a thousand peasants’ shoes. Not even the shredded petals of the carefully kept rose gardens were left, the rose gardens that Kasha and I had watched the first day we ever spent together.

I took the steps up, hand in Schizl’s. The cheering was deafening. The crowd of commoners were holding up the new flag, holding posters, holding blown-up photographs of Schizl, and surprisingly, photographs of me.

I stepped onto the wooden platform. The crowds of journalists and cameramen were clustered nearest the platforms, their cameras pointed at us, their notebooks and pencils held above their shoulders.

It was something I loved. Cameras aimed at me, people cheering at me. Beautiful in a tailored dress, my makeup immaculately done.

I could never imagine feeling that way ever again. The camera flash against my eyes hurt me, and the dress was too tight and showy. The makeup caked me like a mask.

I was a thing. A circus elephant only shown to cause cheers and gasps.

“Citizens of the People's Republic of Rhosgalle,” started Schizl. “We gather here on this day to celebrate a very important event. Our Princess, our darling, our hero who fought so hard for us while we were under such oppression, is here to take her rightful crown.”

People screamed, Even the soldiers at the fringes of the crowd were throwing their arms up, caps lopsided and falling off. Their smiles were so wonderful. _Is this what happy citizens look like? Is this what a righteous country looks like? Is this democracy? Is this peace?_

“Our country is still a republic. We make our decisions, in a council of people like us. But our lovely Glaucopis de Vallerand, she will lead us through this new era.”

Schizl looked back at me, and the white light danced off her face. She seemed like a fairy, beautiful and cruel and loving and so _alien._

I stepped forward, arm and arm with Schizl.

The screams were wild. _She loves us! Glaucopis! Our queen! Long live the queen!_

You could put the revolutionary fervor in the people, but the love of the royal family would never leave them. Their wild eyes were all fixated on me, in my too-short dress and blue eyes and my hands fisted in my skirts.

There was a priest standing to the side, a man with a thin moustache and a gentlemanly smile. Some clergyman they roped into providing the crowning in the stead of the pope.

All a sham.

I had a feeling the whole world would be turning into a sham in the coming years.

Schizl’s hand left mine in a loss of warmth. She stood on the balcony of the platform, waving to the people. Her face was righteous in the fading sunlight, long eyelashes and strong chin and taut shoulders. She was a savior. She had saved them from despotism and monarchy. Schizl Kierviste was a hero.

I stood under the lights, feeling the beams beat down on me like the sun I played under with Kashlani, with Gruoch, that sun I had seen my sister leave to war and my mother wave to the people, her eyes and smile sagging. The sun disappearing over the horizon, streaking the sky with blood and honey.

“Good comrades, we are free. Forever and always. We are liberated. We control our own destinies.” Her voice was loud and vibrating, shushing the crowd. She spread her arms wide in front of the vast, roiling crowd.

The cameras reflected me, smiling and made up like a doll, my eyes blank underneath my eyelashes. Like a photo taken decades before, of a young queen ready to give everything to her country, only to have her country execute her.

“Our queen is our own, and she will support us as she always has, in our new People’s Republic. She will let the crown rest on her head, and join hands with the Revolution, as she always had. An ally of our liberation.”

I pulled my dress up.

There was a muttering and gasping from the crowd as I exposed my bare lower body, and the mess of blood and flesh between my legs.

“We will show our monarchist enemies who we really are. We are ruled by the People, and we always will be. Our queen will fight for our rights…” continued Schizl, oblivious.

I dug my fingers inside myself. Between two fingers, I pulled out the razor in a gush of blood.

“Bharata will fall, Vardany will fall, Graecia will fall. They will understand the meaning of liberty, of a People’s republic. Their Kings, Queens, their Ranis and Rajhs, their Kaisers and Princes, _they will be wiped out._ A new world, one ruled by the People and only the People, will be ushered in.”

Her back was to me as she boomed, her leather gloves outstretched. I held my blade in my hand as I approached her.

There was a slow realization and screaming among the crowd as I reached her. I gripped her head in one hand, and with the other, drew the razor across her throat.

The pulse of hot blood against my fingers felt like the heat of a gunshot, but not as much as the bullets that hit me soon after.

My skull, my spine, the backs of my legs, were all peppered with bullets. I collapsed onto the platform, agony erupting on the backside of my body.

All I could hear were screams. As I lay dying on the platform, blood soaking into the wood, my hazy gaze captured green eyes.

The commander, the dictator, Schizl Kierviste, stared at me from the few feet that separated us. Only a blood trail connected us. Blood poured from her slit throat. Her eyes were brimming, not with tears, not with fury or hate or disbelief, but a blank sort of obsession.

They were the color of grass blades, of green flames, of the darkest and lightest emeralds, of a revolutionary, and one who ordered executions without a second thought, and of a young peasant girl.

***

As the last synapses faded from Glaucopis’s brain, the final thing she saw was the all-encompassing green of Schizl Kierviste’s eyes.

The last thoughts of her dying mind were the warm arms of Kashlani, of her mother’s gaze, and the gentle voice of Gruoch Macduff. She grasped those memories tightly as she drifted into eternal darkness.

But Schizl thought of nothing else but the crumpled figure in front of her, the woman she had obsessed over and hunted for years.

Using the last of her strength, Schizl dragged herself the few feet over to her body. Glaucopis’s blue eyes were dimming, but in their last moments they were conquered by a pale green blaze. Schizl’s obsession swallowed up her whole world, intense and terrifying even as the life slowly left her body.

_You are mine._

The screams and commotion that echoed around Schizl dulled to a muted sound. The Princess laid over the wooden blanks, limp. Her golden-brown hair was caked with blood. As she heaved with her last breaths, Schizl Kierviste hooked an arm around her body, and with the last of her strength, pulled herself towards her.

Floodlights shone off the blood dripping through the cracks in the floor, and Schizl’s arm tightened around Glaucopis as her torn windpipe dripped the last of her life’s blood.

_You will always be mine._

They died together.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Save for the epilogue. This... was probably the best thing that could have happened, considering the circumstances.  
> Thanks /u/ for giving me the juice to complete this work! Also, Acidus and Anon really did call it last chapter.


	36. Epilogue

* * *

The inside of the palace was bare, stark, stripped of the comforting hangings that Kashlani remembered. It had been so long since she had been here, and yet the haunting familiarity rose up in her as she saw all the places she remembered from her childhood.

The golden tassels on the velvet curtains she had hidden behind, the stained glass panels that had cast rainbows of color over the marble floor, the polished wood banister she had slid down years ago—they were smashed or ripped out to reveal concrete blocks and cracked stonework. Shards of sunlight shone on the gray floor, from aerial attacks that had torn open the domed roof.

The floor had giant cracks in it from the bombing attacks, and she neatly stepped over them in her high heels. The man ahead saluted smartly at her. “Minister.” His red uniform was gleaming velvet, incongruous with the crumbling and destroyed surroundings. His gold epaulettes gleamed in the sunlight that shone through the cracks in the ceiling.

“Is she here?” Kashlani questioned.

“She is.” He nodded to a sealed concrete door set into the wall. A small window was set into the top.

Kashlani looked into the window briefly, then closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, inhaling the concrete dust and the gunpowder that permeated the air. Then she stepped in.

As the door slid shut behind her, she saw a figure sitting at a table, on a wooden chair that might have once belonged in the servant’s quarters. She was not bound. Why bind an old lady?

The old woman looked up, and met her gaze. “Kasha.”

Kashlani smiled wanly. “Kasha. No one has called me that in a long time.”

Kashlani sat down at the table. As they watched each other, she could barely believe that this was the same woman she had known all those years ago. Her hair was no longer gleaming jet-black, but brittle white. Her formerly porcelain skin was damaged and scarred, etched with wrinkles. She had not the commanding stature or imposing height she had as a bodyguard of a Royal Family, but was stooped and tired like an old soldier. Like someone who was tired of living.

“How long has it been?” said Kashlani.

“Twenty years,” said Gruoch. “I counted until the day.”

She let out a breath through her nose. “You look different, Gru.”

“So do you. Your hair is getting speckled with gray. I can see crow’s feet on the edge of your eyes.”

 _“I’m_ going gray? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

Gruoch laughed, her voice coming out in a harsh rasp. “I know. I’m an old lady. It’s true.”

They lapsed into silence. Kashlani ran a long fingernail along her own wrist, playing with her skin. The spotlight above them glared down.

“I heard you were about to get married,” said Gruoch. “Just a few years ago. Why didn’t you?”

Kashlani blinked. “Yes. We had the ceremony planned. My sari was done, all the arrangements were made. But…I… I couldn’t go through with it. The day before the wedding, I couldn’t stop crying. All I could think of was….”

The air seemed to still as her voice trailed off. “I called it off. I just couldn’t go through with it.” Kashlani laughed bitterly. “I suppose I’m just destined to be an old maid. It’s all right. I have plenty of nieces and nephews to spoil.”

Gruoch didn't answer. A moth batted against the lightbulb, swatting fruitlessly against the glass. The dark shadow from its wings flitted across the room.

“You’ve seen the footage, haven’t you?” said Gruoch.

“Once or twice.” Kashlani saw it nearly every night. She had it playing on a film reel, and she watched it over and over in her bed, tears gleaming in her eyes as the black and white images reflected off her pupils.

“I never did,” said Gruoch. “I didn’t want to subject myself to it. I know it sounds selfish. But I want to remember her as she was. Lively and full of laughter and gaiety, not… “

“Gasping for air,” said Kashlani. “Bleeding and convulsing on the ground. Stark, black blood spreading over the floorboards, bullets caving in holes in her head. Prone body and hair spread across the floor."

Gruoch’s fingers tightened.

“Why are you flinching?” said Kashlani. “You did this to her. You caused the fall of the palace. You played along with us, you passed along information to the rebels, you, you, you watched the Queen be executed, and Ianthos and Rosendo, you—“

Kashlani took several deep breaths, tears beading in her eyes. It had been twenty years ago, but the images were rising in her mind clear as day. “Why, Gru? _Why?_ You were her friend! You were my friend! We grew up with you! You were more of a mother to us than our own mothers. We _trusted_ you, you played with us as we grew up, we never once thought it was you, _we, we, we—“_

She stood up, knocking her chair over.

“I tried to kill myself, you know,” hissed Kashlani. “Seeing Glau’s mother and father, her brothers, my own _friends_ die on screen was one thing. But when I saw her draw that razor across Kierviste’s throat, I knew it was the end. I was in a conference room with fifty other people, princes and princesses and ministers—and I just _screamed_. I saw Glau crumple to the floor. I clawed my face. I dug my fingers into my eyes. They had to restrain me. When they let me out, I tried to hang myself. Not once. Not twice. The next five years were the worst in my life. All I could do was think about her, about the look on her face, and those hands that cradled me covered in blood, and those lips that kissed my tears away, and I—“

Kashlani bent over, chest heaving. “And even now, sometimes when I float in the bathtub without Glaucopis, I wonder what it would feel like to go under and never come up.”

Gruoch was silent. When Kashlani looked up, the old woman’s eyes were blank and unreadable. Her eyes had never changed through the years, not once. They were the same liquid black they had always been, like a doe’s.

“Just tell me why, Gruoch.”

In the white light, Grouch’s lines seemed twice as stark. She looked a hundred years old.

“They told me they would spare her,” the old woman said. “It seemed—it seemed back then—as if I had no choice. The rebels were advancing. Queen Ystele would never budge, it was against her honor as a ruler. I was so worried—about what they would do to Glaucopis if they got their hands on her. My Glau. I loved her so much, I loved her since she was a child. I couldn’t bear to see her ruined and murdered at their hands. She was like my daughter. Just like you, Kashlani. I loved you both, and I couldn’t bear to see either of you suffer.”

“And what did it come out to?” said Kashlani bitterly. “You betrayed her, and she died anyway.”

“She did,” said Gruoch, her voice trembling with a black note that made Kashlani’s voice die in her throat. “She died anyway.”

Kashlani closed her eyes. She heard nothing but the slow breathing of the woman opposite her, and the batting of moth wings against the lightbulb.

“It’s getting late, Gruoch. I’m sure you’ll want to sit and think things over.”

“It’s been too late for too long, Kashlani.”

Kashlani sat up and pushed the chair back. “Just—one last question, Gruoch. Why, after Glaucopis died, did you keep fighting for the rebels? The whole reason you joined them was gone. The Commander was dead. It was all over. Why didn’t you just desert them? Why did you lead the army even in the last years of the war? We only captured you last week, and that was only with the help of that nun, Maria Benedetta. Why did you hold out for so long, even though it was hopeless?”

Gruoch was looking into space. Kashlani wasn’t even sure if she could hear her. Her eyes were haunted. The last hours of this frail old woman were haunted, haunted by a thousand unnamable regrets.

“Do you know what I think? I think maybe you wanted to die, Gruoch. I think you waited and fought until there was no other option left for you, until death was inevitable, either on the battlefield or by execution.”

Gruoch said nothing.

“Well, you know what? You’ll get your wish. Tomorrow, at six o'clock. You and your fellow commanders will die on the gallows, one after another. So sit and think, Gruoch Macduff. Think about your life. Think long and hard about what you accomplished. About what you destroyed.”

Kashlani walked through the door, forcing herself not to look back. As she snapped it shut behind her, the Captain of the Guard bowed to her. “Minister? Are you finished?”

“Yes, quite so. Have her room guarded until the hour of execution. Let no one out nor in.”

***

Kashlani set off down the hallway, the clicks of her heels echoing over the bare stone walls. She reached the half-collapsed double-doors and stepped into the sunlight.

The cobblestone street into the city was surrounded by the crumbling devastation of years of war and bombing. Not a single building was untouched, and many buildings lay in destroyed and collapsed ruins for miles around.

Even so, life blossomed even in the most devastated of places. A few raggedy children were playing around a fallen statue, blithely unaware of its meaning, or the fact that several months earlier to do so would have meant immediate execution.

The statue was one of the many that had lined the street to the palace, of a young woman in a commander’s uniform, hand raised to her eyes as she stared triumphantly ahead. The nose was busted and an arm was missing, but there was no doubt who it was—the martyr, the rallying cry of the People’s Republic of Rhosgalle, under whose name they had fought to the bitter end in search of a country where all would be equal: Schizl Kierviste.

Little bare feet hopped off the carved head and shoulders, and laughter drifted across the street as they sang a song. _“Blue eyes to heaven rise, gray eyes go to paradise, green eyes in hell tell lies, black eyes in purgatory get wise.”_

Kashlani recognized it with a start. It was a rhyme she used to sing with Glaucopis when they had been small children. She smiled as she watched the children play.

She looked up at the sky. For the first time in a long time, it was clear, unmarred by smoke or fire. The vivid blue expanse stretched from horizon to horizon across the gray, destroyed city.

The clear blue reminded her of the eyes of one who had been so dear to her for so long. Laughing and gay, as pure and sweet as the dawn.

_Blue eyes to heaven rise._

Still smiling, Kashlani started walking again.

***

_May 12, 1935. With the deposing of the last commanders of the People’s Republic of Rhosgalle, the inauguration of King Bertrand and Queen Romata took place in the following months. In the years that followed, the absolute monarchy was gradually restructured into a constitutional monarchy. The first Prime Minister of Rhosgalle was the foreign dignitary called Kashlani of Bharata, who helped with the reconstruction of the war-torn country through her tenure. She served as Prime Minister for eighteen years before resigning._

 

_Glaucopis de Vallerand is buried in an unmarked grave._

_fin_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much guys. It feels very freeing to finish this. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now, with confidence, I can say: The End.  
> The song I quoted is a French nursery rhyme called "Les yeux bleus vont aux cieux".  
> (Also, I'm going to be self-indulgent and note that I listened to Soldier by Fleurie while writing this last chapter)


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